


Strange Love

by N1ghtWr1ter



Series: Badlands [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Lexa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Established Relationship, F/F, Futanari, G!P, G!p Lexa, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Maybe sort of dubcon, Omega Verse, Omega!Clarke, Omegaverse, Porn with Feelings, but not really, extended timeline, or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So we should definitely talk about it,” Clarke says, jolting Lexa out of her hazy thoughts.</p><p>“Talk about what?” Lexa says, annoyed at the strange grogginess of her voice, though Clarke doesn’t seem to mind – her eyes spark at the low roughness of it and she has to swallow before continuing. </p><p>“Heat,” she says, which makes color rise instantly to Lexa’s cheeks. “Mine, specifically. I’m pretty sure it’ll be here in about a week.”</p><p>Lexa nods, her mouth suddenly dry. “Ah.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night/but the ending is the same every damn time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s just get this out of the way: this is omegaverse fic. Check the tags; if there’s something you don’t like, don’t stick around. AO3 is vast; I’m sure you can find something more to your taste. Go on, shoo. Scoot. No? Still here? All right then. 
> 
> Just a couple of things you should know about this AU: first of all, omegaverse. If you’re not familiar with the phenomenon here's a really, REALLY simplified version: omegaverse is an AU concept in which there are six sexes: alpha, beta, and omega male and female. Betas are the closest to our own world in terms of equipment configuration; both alpha males and females have dangly bits (though alpha females’ are, to a certain extent, retractable); omegas are the fertile myrtles of the world and both males and females have the ability to get pregnant and have babies. One of the biggest aspects of omegaverse is the mating cycle of alphas and omegas: specifically, omegas go through heats about 3 times a year, during which time they're really, REALLY horny and really, REALLY attractive – to the point of irresistibility – to alphas. Various authors interpret these aspects of omegaverse in various ways; everybody's headcanon is a little different, but since this is my story we’re going with mine. I'll be expanding on some of these headcanons in future notes; I'll also probably post more stuff about it on my tumblr (ohhedamyheda) when I have time. 
> 
> Second: I’ve expanded the timeline. We’re somewhere in between 2x09 and 2x10, but I’ve stuck a few months in between them, filled with all sorts of exciting stuff, some of which I may actually decide to write. But this is porn (with a fair amount of plot, because apparently I can’t set out to write a smutty omegaverse oneshot without actually writing close to 50k of character development, ugh), so we’ll have to see. At this point I have a prequel to this planned, and also a sequel of sorts, which involves an unexpected character in unexpected ways. 
> 
> Also, let me know what y’all think. Duh.

“So we should definitely talk about it,” Clarke says, jolting Lexa out of her hazy thoughts.

“Talk about what?” Lexa says, annoyed at the strange grogginess of her voice, though Clarke doesn’t seem to mind – her eyes spark at the low roughness of it and she has to swallow before continuing.

“Heat,” she says, which makes color rise instantly to Lexa’s cheeks. “Mine, specifically. I’m pretty sure it’ll be here in about a week.”

Lexa nods, her mouth suddenly dry. “Ah.”

She’d been wondering. She’s been smelling Clarke more strongly for the last day or so, and while the Skaikru omega’s scent always smells good to her it’s gotten truly _amazing –_ her head sometimes whips around like it’s on a rope when Clarke’s upwind of her, and other times she finds herself wandering distractedly through the camp, looking for something that she can’t remember, until she finds herself in Clarke’s presence. She’s had her suspicions, but she’s been too nervous to ask. Now Clarke’s confirming them.

Clarke raises an eyebrow and Lexa finds the gesture impossibly alluring. “I’m not sure what omegas do on the ground, but we’re seriously low on our heat suppressant drugs and we don’t have enough electricity from the generators on the Ark to run the water pumps, let alone the filtration systems for the heat chambers. So it looks like we’re going to have to do this your way.”

“Oh,” Lexa says, wondering absently where the keenness of mind and strength of spirit the Commander is supposed to possess have gone. All she knows is that Clarke smells really, _really_ good and she wants to get closer. She’s halfway out of her chair before she remembers herself. Clarke’s eyes narrow and she puts the table between herself and Lexa before continuing.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Y-yes,” Lexa says, and then growls at herself for stuttering. She’s too busy firming up her voice to notice the way Clarke’s eyes spark again at the sound. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Please go on.”

“So…what are we going to do?”

Do? What do they do? What does anybody do, ever? Lexa shakes herself hard, forces herself to focus. She comes off sounding like a textbook, but at least she's making words.

“Our healers make a tonic that lessens the effects of heat somewhat, though its efficacy tends to vary and some people experience unpleasant side effects. There’s also a compound about a day’s walk from here where omegas can go as well if the heat’s particularly bad, that’s guarded by betas.” She’s proud of herself for managing to get that out, though for some reason Clarke’s other eyebrow rises.

“And what if I don’t want to go?”

“Well, like I said, there’s medicine you can take…and that I can take, that may help me maintain a modicum of control. Though like the one for omegas, that’s variable as well. I’m not sure how it’ll affect me.” When had Clarke leaned so far over the table, and when had her eyes gotten so dark? Lexa’s own flick from Clarke’s, to her lips, to the dip of cleavage visible just overtop her shirt, before Clarke’s voice snaps her back to attention.

“You don’t know? But Costia…she was a beta?”

Lexa shakes her head, her words suddenly thick with more than just fog. “An omega. But we never got the chance to mate, before she died.”

“So you've never…”

Lexa shakes her head. “Not with an omega. Not in heat, anyway.”

And there it is, the question she really doesn't want to ask about the person she _really_ doesn't want to talk about, because the thought of that _ripa_ touching Clarke, kissing her, _knotting_ her, makes Lexa want to reach back into the past and tear his throat out. This time she’s successful in choking off the growl that tries to escape, but Clarke reads her dark look anyway. After the appropriate eye roll at alpha possessiveness, she says, “Finn was a beta. And I wasn't in heat.”

Lexa tries _very_ hard not to look relieved and excited but fails miserably, if Clarke’s bigger eye roll is any indication. “So you've never…either.”

Clarke shakes her head, then narrows her eyes at Lexa. “No. And can you do me a favor and try not to look so smug about it?”

Lexa does her very best to look innocent as a newborn, but Clarke only lets out an exasperated sigh and turns away. On impulse – an impulse she should be controlling, but impulse control hasn't exactly been her strong suit  lately – Lexa reaches across the table and touches Clarke’s hand. At first the omega’s entire body stiffens, but then slowly begins to relax. Taking this as a good sign, Lexa begins to rub circles across the webbing between Clarke’s thumb and forefinger, trying to ignore the way her skin buzzes where they touch.

“I'm sorry,” she says, finally, and Clarke offers her a smile that's wry, but grateful.

“Never thought I'd hear that coming from an alpha. Not in this context, anyway.”

Lexa shrugs, does her best to sound nonchalant, to keep the nervous fluttering she feels in her belly from spreading to the rest of her body. “Yes, well. I care about you, Clarke.”

Clarke turns to face her, and while her smile is still somewhat pained and doesn't fully reach her eyes, it's enough to make Lexa feel as though the sun has risen inside the tent. “I know. And that's why…I want to stay here during my heat. In the camp.” She pauses, sucks in a breath. “With you.”

Lexa feels as though all of the blood in her body has rushed directly between her legs. She very badly wants what Clarke seems to be saying, but she doesn’t want to have misunderstood. “Clarke, I don’t know if that would be wise. As I said, I don’t know how the tonic will affect me but from all accounts a heavy dose can leave one very ill, and if I’m indisposed I may not be able to protect you from…unwanted advances. But if I don’t take the medicine or if its effects on me are limited, I may not be able to protect you from myself.”

Clarke gets up to lean against the table with one hip, arms folded, her eyebrow up in a position of challenge that never fails to make Lexa’s pants feel one degree tighter. Without meaning to, a low growl issues from her throat at Clarke’s posture, and she stands too. The Sky girl’s looking up at her through long blonde lashes, her eyes impossibly blue, the kind of blue Lexa feels like she could drown in, like maybe she already is.

“Stupid alpha,” Clarke says, voice low. _“I want you to mate me_. Unless you don’t think you can?” If Clarke had been a day closer to her heat Lexa isn’t sure she would be able to keep herself from vaulting over the table and bearing Clarke to the floor; as it is, she’s left gripping the wooden edge so tightly her knuckles are white. But then Clarke says, with a vulnerability that makes Lexa ache, “Unless…you don’t want to?”

Lexa’s rounded the table and is pressing herself to Clarke before she can think, nose nudging under the omega’s chin for the scent glands there, rubbing where she knows will be comforting. After a moment, she can feel Clarke’s body relaxing against her own, and a sigh hisses out against her skin. “Of course I do,” Lexa says, working very hard to keep the rough want out of her voice, though the way Clarke shivers tells her she’s not entirely successful. “I want nothing more. I just want to be sure that you are certain.” She lifts her head so she can look into Clarke’s eyes and again she’s just on the edge of drowning in them.

Clarke nods, slides a hand into her hair to cup the back of her neck, and draws her close. “I trust you, Lexa. I’m sure.” Lexa falls into the kiss like she’s taking a dive off a waterfall, and she doesn’t even care that she might drown. She fists her hands in Clarke’s shirt to pull her even closer, their bodies pressed flush against one another. She hears Clarke moan as the shaft of her clit begins to extend, and hardens even further when it brushes against the growing heat between Clarke’s legs. “Lexa, we…we have things to do. Preparations to make before we…we can…” she gasps out as Lexa sets her teeth to her pulse point and suckles.

“It’s late, Clarke…surely these _things_ can take place in the morning?” she tosses off dismissively, and Clarke gives in with a nod and another moan. Lexa grins against her neck and then reaches down to cup her rear and lift her onto the table, nudging her way between Clarke’s legs and pressing her down. Lexa can tell at this point that Clarke must be very close indeed to her heat; usually the Sky girl enjoys making her fight for dominance, and there have been plenty of nights that have ended with Clarke atop her, victoriously riding her to one orgasm after another. This is not something that Lexa typically minds…but Clarke’s scent has changed, taken on a sweetness that sings to Lexa of submission and invites her to lay her body atop Clarke’s on the table and take what she wants.

But she holds back. The time for that will be later; right now Clarke’s right, and they do need to be careful with one another before they’ve taken the proper precautions. So she slides her way back down Clarke’s body, fighting hard to ignore the whine that the omega lets out at the loss of contact (and the way her cock jumps in protest), and works at the buckle to her pants, kissing and nipping at her waistband as she slides them down Clarke’s thighs. Then she kneels and dips her tongue into Clarke’s warm, wet center, bliss filling her brain at the soft sigh the omega makes, at the way her hand tangles in Lexa’s hair, the way her ankles lock behind her head. Without warning she drags the flat of her tongue roughly along Clarke’s clit and feels thighs snap shut around her ears, and then Lexa’s nipping and licking and kissing her sex into her first orgasm of the night.

* * *

The next day Clarke intends to go to Camp Jaha and consult with her mother on the resources she has for controlling her heat…if Lexa will ever let her get out the door. The alpha’s not usually one for PDA, unless she winds up getting jealous – but ever since a Grounder beta had had the audacity to flirt with Clarke at a festival about a month ago, and the Commander had snarled viciously at him and then practically dragged Clarke to her tent and spent two hours making her scream, no one’s been stupid enough to make that mistake.

Now, however, she’s late, very late, and that’s because Lexa had insisted on waking her up with her very favorite version of _breakfast in bed_ , and then fought her for every piece of clothing she put on (it’s incredibly difficult to even put on _socks_ when there’s an amorous alpha kissing her way up your shin). Now she’s rubbing herself against Clarke’s back at the door of the tent, putting out an awful lot of pheromones for someone who’s not in rut and Clarke’s trying to resist the pull of the soft, warm bed that she knows awaits her if she just lets herself get encircled by Lexa’s arms…

 _“No.”_ She slaps away the sneaky hand that’s trying to creep around her waist, and turns to glare at Lexa. The look she gets is hurt and adorable and wide-eyed and she shakes her head, both to clear it and to admonish its maker. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything –”

“You're scent-marking. I'm not even in heat yet, Lexa, and I highly doubt there’s anyone stupid enough to take a run at me since your last little display.” With a disappointed rumble (and one last, surreptitious rub), Lexa disengages, leaving Clarke shivering a little bit in the absence of her warmth. “Try to behave,” she says, fake-sternly, “and I'll be back before nightfall tomorrow.”

Lexa sighs. "Be safe, Clarke."

“I will.”

For all of her complaining about Lexa’s behavior, Clarke leaves the camp wrapped comfortably in a cloak of Lexa’s scent, clinging to her like a favorite jacket.

* * *

Abby takes a sniff as Clarke walks into the med bay and raises her eyebrows. “You're certainly cutting it close.”

Clarke only sighs grumpily at her mom; she’s well aware. When she and the Grounders Lexa had sent with her on the journey had stopped for the night she’d been fine, but she’d woken up the next morning with a dull ache between her legs and, to put it delicately, the remainder of the ride was excruciating. The guards who’d come with her were betas and had politely ignored the faces she was making, but a lot of heads had turned her way as the gate to Camp Jaha swung open. Raven and Kane had greeted her warmly, but Bellamy had gone in for an unexpected hug – and pulled back instantly, nose wrinkling at the scent that clung to her. Clarke had been conflicted – on the one hand, smug that her alpha’s mere _scent,_ a day old, was enough to warn off another, but also peeved at being claimed as Lexa’s territory in such a way – and a little guilty at how much she missed the warmth of Bellamy’s hug, the strong alpha smell that rolled off him. Not as strong as Lexa’s, but it was here, and warm, and present, and –

 _Nope. Don't even go there, Griffin,_ she admonished herself. _That's heat brain talking. Get a grip._

 _“Clarke,”_ Abby says sharply, and she realizes that her mom’s been talking too.

“I'm sorry…what?” she says, turning to Abby and trying not to sigh exasperatedly at the look her mom’s giving her. She knows from her omega ed classes that during days before a heat she’ll be more snappish, more argumentative, more prone to picking fights – especially with those who aren't potential mates, like her mom. The smell that’s been turning alpha heads since she walked into the camp – and while Clarke’s not usually one to care, she can't deny that her inner omega is loving the attention – is making her mom’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Clarke fights off the urge to bare her teeth back – her mom’s always had an oversensitive nose, and it’s not a good idea to provoke her when she’s here for her help.

Abby has one eyebrow arched at Clarke, as though daring her to continue, but she turns away with a satisfied nod when Clarke ducks her head. She steps over to the drug locker and starts filling a bottle with some very familiar white pills, but stops far short of the usual dose. “You know we’re on strict rations with these,” her mom says, as though that fact hasn't started three fights in the last month alone and nearly caused a heat craze that was only calmed by Lincoln and Kane’s pumping out beta pheromones together. Clarke nods, her mouth suddenly dry at the thought of one of those starting at the Grounder camp – all of those alphas fighting for her, fighting to be the one to knot her and claim her and take her through her heat. The thought is terrifying – she knows that alphas often get hurt or even killed during heat crazes, ripped apart by their lust-addled rivals, and she doesn't want anything like that to happen to Lexa – but it's a little bit attractive, too, to think of them all fighting over _her._ Her inner omega stretches and preens and Clarke, annoyed, reminds it that omegas sometimes get killed too – trampled to death by the fighting alphas. _Lexa would never let that happen,_ it purrs back, and Clarke’s so busy rolling her eyes that she doesn't notice the direction her mom’s going with her cautionary words.

“Now, those will last you a day and a half, maybe two, so there’s a few things we can do. I spoke with Raven and she says she can probably get the generator going long enough to have the heat chamber working for one, so that's three. But you're usually four at least, so you'll need to think about which betas you want on the door. I'd recommend Lincoln and Kane, they're usually –”

 _"_ Mom,” Clarke says loudly, and then has to say it again because Abby keeps talking over her. “ _Mom!_ I'm staying with Lexa.”

Clarke had known when she first made the decision that her mom was going to cause trouble. She doesn’t like Lexa – she thinks she’s ruthless, cold, and cruel, and hasn’t managed to look beyond what the Grounders’ tradition had decreed must be done to Finn. When her daughter’s relationship with the Commander had, after weeks of tense arguments and private yelling matches, progressed beyond the diplomatic and into the romantic, she had been outraged. She’d stormed into the Grounders’ camp, demanding that Clarke return to Camp Jaha with her and cease seeing Lexa. Such behavior from an alpha in another’s territory would ordinarily not have been tolerated; only Clarke standing between her mother and the Commander, a hand on both of their chests, and shouting both of them down simultaneously had prevented a swift and brutal fight. Clarke had made it clear that she did not intend to stop seeing Lexa, and Lexa had made it clear that she was not going to tolerate Abby’s presence in her camp for any longer than was necessary. Her mother has slowly come to terms with the new arrangement, but tension remains, boiling to the surface every time Clarke returns to Camp Jaha with Lexa’s scent overlaying hers, or Clarke reunites with Lexa and the Commander wrinkles her nose at Abby’s last hug. All Clarke can do at this point is accept it as the order of things, and sigh very pointedly at the thought that two ordinarily reasonable, smart alphas can turn into such knotheaded, instinct-driven animals playing stupid dominance games.

Abby gives her a look that’s simultaneously sharp and slightly panicked before she masters herself and says briskly, “So you'll be staying at the Grounders’ compound, then? You should probably go a couple of days in advance, just in case it comes early or you run into any trouble -”

“No, Mom,” Clarke says harshly, unable to keep the growl out of her tone. “I'm staying _with Lexa.”_ Her mom looks like she’s going to keep playing dumb and Clarke snaps, “Are you gonna make me say it?” That shuts her mom up, but not for long.

Abby sighs. “Clarke, I just… I worry about you, all right? This is your first heat without the usual course of suppressants, and we don't know how the Grounders usually manage – and Lexa, does she – does she have any experience taking someone through a heat, or…”

“No,” Clarke has to admit, but hastens to go on before her mother can jump in, “but we’ll figure it out together, okay? I know you don't like or trust Lexa but _I_ do, and she cares about me. She's not going to let anything happen to me.”

“You can't know that,” Abby says, somewhat desperately, and Clarke shakes her head.

“No. But we don't know that I would be fine here, either. I could break out and start a heat craze or set off Kane and Lincoln, or any number of things could happen. The only certainty I can have is that with Lexa I’ll be with someone I trust. She's _the_ alpha there, Mom, like you are here. If anyone can keep me safe, it's her.”

“Clarke, it’s not…” Her mother hesitates, as though trying to figure out how to say this delicately. “It’s not just other people I’m concerned about. You said Lexa’s never been with an omega in heat either, and with the two of you both inexperienced, I’m worried about your ability to maintain control of yourselves. I just don't want anyone to get hurt or...find themselves in a situation that they're not ready for.”

Clarke swallows. She knows exactly what her mom's talking about - a mating claim - and knows that she and Lexa still need to talk about the possibility. Right now, though, she needs to get her mom off her back, and she decides that fake bravado is the way to go.

"Mom, have you met Lexa?” Clarke snorts. “I’m pretty sure that if Grounders had middle names, hers would be _control_.” At her mom’s unamused look, Clarke sobers. “Look, I know. We’re taking a risk. But everyone has a first time, right? You and Dad did and, well, here I am!”

“Your father and I were in a much more controlled environment, with a full supply of suppressants,” Abby insists. Clarke recognizes when her mom’s going in for the kill and backtracks hastily.

“Yeah, and you know what? The Grounders actually have suppressants too. Lexa says it’s a kind of tonic, and they have it for _both_ alphas and omegas.”

“And do you know how they’re going to affect you?” Clarke’s mother says, crossing her arms. “If they’re anything like ours you know that the medications don’t affect everyone in the same way. You should at least try them before you find yourself reliant on them in the middle of your heat.”

Clarke swallows and, after a moment of struggle, dips her head. Much as she hates to admit it – and she hates it even more than usual, what with the onset of heat making her all kinds of argumentative – her mother has a point. She makes a mental note to talk to Lexa about it when she returns from Camp Jaha – hopefully long enough before the heat starts to let them make a full trial.

“Clarke, I just want you to be safe,” her mom says again, then sighs. “I know that face, though – your mind’s made up. All right,” she says abruptly, all business again, “here you go. These are enough suppressants for a day and a half, maybe more if you're careful. Even if you…do decide to go through with it -” and Abby can't keep her lip from curling up at the thought – “you'll still probably want some betas nearby, to calm things down if it gets…tense.”

“Lincoln will be coming back with me, and I'm sure Lexa has betas she trusts,” Clarke says.

“Good. Now I want you to know that it's never too late to change your mind. Just radio for me and I'll come with an escort to take you back here. Or if you need any help, or any advice, or if you get hurt…”

“I'll be fine, Mom,” Clarke says, and darts a quick smile at her mother to ease the sting of the interruption. “Hey, at least with my birth control implant I can't get pregnant, right?” She takes her best shot at a winning grin, and after a long moment her mother sighs and steps forward to give her a hug.

“All right. I'll see you after, okay? We’ll have breakfast on the third day of the week.”

Clarke nods. “Like always.”

“And…say hi to Lexa for me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You don't mean that.”

“I don't mean that.”

She laughs as she leaves to mask the pain of the parting, the pill bottle rattling hollowly in her fist.

Clarke radios ahead to let Tondc know they're coming back, and then she says her goodbyes. When she’s giving Raven a hug she catches a faint whiff of someone oddly familiar, but the beta steps back so quickly that Clarke can't fully place it. She gives the mechanic a sharp look and sees her actually _jump,_ increasing Clarke’s suspicion – Raven’s a very dominant beta, never easily cowed – but more people are crowding forward for hugs and the girl is able to slip away in the crowd.

Soon enough, however, it’s just Octavia, Lincoln, her Grounder escort – and Bellamy, who’s  coming with them to work out his and Lincoln’s plan to infiltrate the Mountain, leaving from Tondc to make their Grounder disguises more believable. Clarke hates herself just a bit for the way she leans in and sniffs, ever-so-subtly, to get a whiff of that strong alpha smell – but then she remembers herself and pulls back, pasting a furious frown on her face.

He raises his hands. “Easy, Princess. Don’t worry, I'll keep my distance. I know it’s gotta be rough.”

"Thanks,” Clarke says, genuinely grateful, though she can't help but note that the way things are going she doesn't know if distance is going to help. Tonight and tomorrow are going to be difficult no matter what.

* * *

She's not wrong. Her dreams are miserably explicit, hands all over her and around her and inside her, holding her down and fucking her in all sorts of manners and positions. Sometimes she sees Lexa’s face, sometimes Finn’s, sometimes Bellamy’s; sometimes her partners have faces that are only vaguely familiar, or have no faces at all. The only thing that stays consistent is the constant burning ache between her legs, and a new sensation, one she’s only ever felt the edge of: an immense emptiness. She feels _empty,_ and she aches to be filled.

She wakes up gasping, and the night, although just on the edge of being too cold to sleep in the open, seems breathless. She's up and on her feet before she realizes what she's doing; all she knows is that she needs to find something. She doesn't pause to interrogate what it might be, or whether it’s even here; she can only focus on the need.

"Woah, hey there, heat brain, where do you think you're going?” Octavia. Clarke scents the air around her, her nose – always sensitive, as omegas’ are, but even more sensitive than usual lately – catching her omega smell, muted by Lincoln’s beta scent. She snorts. At least someone’s been having fun.

“C’mon, let's get you back to bed,” Octavia says, taking gentle hold of her arm in an attempt to steer her back towards her bedroll. A flash of rage sears through Clarke unexpectedly at the touch and she snarls; Octavia drops her arm immediately and holds up her hand. “Sorry, jeez. C’mon, Princess, we still need to go back to bed. We still have a long trip ahead of us tomorrow.”

Clarke nods, her fury gone as soon as it came, leaving only exhaustion in its wake – and an increased consciousness of the ache between her legs, the aching emptiness inside her. “Yeah…sorry, O, I’ve never had to handle it without the pills before. They teach you about it in omega ed but you never really understand until you're going through it, y’know?”

Octavia nods. “Oh yeah.” They both suppress a shudder. Octavia had been the first omega to go into heat on the ground, and while it had been funny in the beginning to laugh at Bellamy, who had seemed so close to taking control of the Ark pack, reduced to playing guard dog for his sister while she made every effort to thwart his attempts to keep all of the Ark alphas off of her, they both know that there are many ways in which things could have gone very, very wrong. Luckily, Octavia had run away from camp after a vicious fight with Bellamy – and been found by Lincoln, who helped her through the rest of her heat. Octavia seems to be following her train of thought; she cocks her head, considering. “Hey, how bout you sleep between me and Lincoln? Might help with the whole touch thing.”

Clarke nods – the idea does seem sound now that she thinks about it, especially knowing that even non-sexual touches can comfort omegas on the verge of a heat. “C’mon,” Octavia says, and when she reaches for Clarke’s hand again she lets her take it without protest. They settle in together next to Lincoln, with Clarke in the middle; the Grounder beta cracks an eye open and gives her a sleepy smile that somehow manages to be understanding. “Just don't get any ideas about my man, all right?” Octavia says from beside her, winking to let Clarke know she's not serious, but Clarke can only manage a weary grin before she’s back to sleep.

Octavia looks cranky when she wakes her up to go, dawn filtering through the trees and painting the cold, misty air a pinkish color. Clarke gives her a jaw-cracking yawn. “Man, I slept like a rock.”

Octavia growls. “Yeah, _you_ did. Moaning and groaning and all _Ooh, Lexa…”_

Clarke hits her to shut her up but can't ignore the sudden spike of heat between her legs at the thought that she’ll be reunited with the Commander tonight. She just hopes that was the only name Octavia heard her moan, she thinks, eyeing Bellamy’s sleepy-eyed form as he pulls breakfast from over the fire. She considers going over for food, but decides against it, remembering how his scent had affected her the previous day and knowing it'll only be more pronounced today. She knows that it’s largely a result of the heat that he’s having this affect on her – ordinarily she views him as a good friend, but nothing more – but heat made pretty much everyone desirable, especially alphas, and Bellamy smells amazing to her right now, dark and musky and sweaty to her in just the right way, and –

“Quit drooling,” Octavia snaps, popping up next to her with breakfast in hand. “And eat this. I'm not letting you bone my brother – not on my watch, anyway. Ugh, God.”

Clarke chews the food wrathfully, barely tasting it. She’s not particularly hungry, anyway - there's a rumbling starting up in her gut that she knows will bubble into cramps before long. She just hopes they can get relatively close to camp before they start.

That plan’s scuppered pretty quickly, though. It soon becomes apparent that there’s no way Clarke’s going to be able to ride. Getting into the saddle is excruciating – her clit feels engorged and swollen, like after an extended sex marathon, and the sudden pressure against her sex makes her bite her lip to the point of bleeding to keep from moaning. But as soon as they pick up a light trot, the pressure turns painful. She gasps out for Octavia to call a halt as she draws up the reins and lurches off the horse, shaking and swearing, as soon as she’s sure she won’t collapse the moment she hits the ground. It’s a near thing – her legs seem to want to fold up under her, but she locks her knees and grits her teeth, muttering _Fuckfuckfuck_ under her breath as Octavia draws closer.

“You okay, Clarke?” she says, a strong scent of concern wafting off her, and Clarke nods vigorously.

“Yeah, fine,” she grits out. “I just…need a minute. And I don’t think I can ride.”

Octavia frowns. “Why can’t – oh. _Oh.”_ Her eyes widen as she catches a whiff of Clarke’s scent. “Uh, okay. I’ll tell the others.”

“Thanks.”

As the other omega spurs her horse over to the rest of her waiting escort, Clarke finds herself wondering idly if she has time to slip off into the woods and…take care of business. _That would be the_ worst _idea,_ she tells herself harshly. First of all, she _definitely_ doesn’t have time. Second of all, can she seriously not wait until nightfall, when she’ll be reunited with Lexa who will surely be more than happy to do the job? And third, she knows it’ll be worse than a homing beacon to Bellamy, who’s eyeing her sideways as he gets off his horse. The betas may not be able to smell Clarke’s predicament, but she’s pretty sure he can. He looks away as soon as he catches her eye, but the damage is done. Clarke groans under her breath.

So they walk. After stopping for lunch the cramps start, and she winds up leaning on her horse like it’s a crutch, half doubled over and clutching her stomach. The pressure between her legs, while temporarily alleviated by the lack of saddle between them, worsens until even the movement of fabric sends shivers down her spine. Her mind is hazy – the most she can really focus on is putting one foot in front of the other, and looking up every once in a while to gauge the distance they have yet to go – but after a while a thought cuts through the fog that this is _way_ worse than anything she’s ever learned about heats without suppressants.

After a spike of concern and confusion, she realizes it makes sense – this is her first heat ever without them, and her body’s not used to handling it. If she had grown up on the ground she’d probably have gone through several of them by now and developed coping mechanisms to mitigate and manage the sensations, but she doesn’t have that background. And, worse, she’s never been mated either – her omega studies textbook had informed her of a theory called the cascade effect, which suggested that every successive heat an omega goes through unmated will be worse than the last – and it looks like that theory is being proven. _Fan-fucking-tastic,_ she groans to herself, and focuses on continuing her progress towards the camp. Towards Lexa.

Eventually the roofs of the tents and the frames of the houses at TonDC rise into view, and she lets out a groan of relief – the torture’s over. Except it’s not – seemingly overnight, her nose has gotten hypersensitive and lost its ability to regulate the flow of information, with the effect that each step she takes closer to the camp results in a dizzying miasma of tantalizing smells – alpha, omega, beta, everyone smells fucking amazing at this point. She’s getting overwhelmed – her steps falter and her clit pulses and the entire world is hot and bright. She hears excited voices rising around her, and sees blurry faces pressing close, and then everything’s spinning and she knows she’s going to fall – until she doesn’t.

All of a sudden things snap back into focus as she draws in a deep, steadying breath – and realizes why. She’s encircled by strong arms and wrapped in a cloak of what’s simultaneously the most comforting and tantalizing scent she’s ever smelled – _Lexa._ Clarke feels immediately at ease, limp and boneless, like she could fall asleep then and there. She lets her head fall back against Lexa’s shoulder and nearly purrs when Lexa shifts to scoop her up into her arms. She’s saying something, Clarke knows, but all she can really hear is her alpha’s voice, and the sound is immensely comforting. The voice and the touch and the display of her strength, the way she’s handling Clarke’s body like it weighs almost nothing, would be incredibly erotic – if she weren’t so _tired._ She yawns jaw-crackingly and feels a low huff of laughter rumble through Lexa’s chest, hears her say something in a joking tone. She wants to tell her off for making fun of her – she’s about to go into _heat,_ for god’s sake, it's not fair  – but she’s asleep before they make it to the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng: 
> 
> Ripa: murderer
> 
> Work and chapter titles are from "Strange Love," Halsey
> 
> If you're interested in more than just my simplified explanation of omegaverse stuff, here's a good primer: http://archiveofourown.org/works/403644/chapters/665489
> 
> So...what did you think? Let me know.


	2. how you laughed when you said my name/and how you gripped my hips so mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciated the incredible response to this fic! Thank you all for your words of encouragement and your insightful questions. To answer a few of those: 
> 
> I make a distinction between sex and mating in this fic. Sex is just that – sex. Mating occurs when one or both partners are in rut and/or heat, is a lot more primal, animalistic, and instinct-driven, and involves knotting and a much higher chance of pregnancy (or would, if Clarke didn’t have a birth control implant). It also involves the possibility of claiming/pairbonding, where through giving one another a mating bite a couple becomes bonded to one another, theoretically for life. 
> 
> I really wanted to explore the concept of an established relationship in omegaverse where the partners are faced with the eventuality of mating but not necessarily prepared to commit to one another in the way that a pairbond means. I kind of see it as the omegaverse equivalent of getting a marriage license; regardless of the big fancy ceremony or not, and of whether you love each other or not, if you've made mating marks on each other you're bonded and there's nothing you can do about that. 
> 
> Mating is a highly emotional experience; it can often be quite difficult for one partner to keep from initiating the bite, and the other to keep from returning it. However, if both partners don't make a claim, the bond is not complete, and the mark will fade. But even an incomplete bond can carry with it emotional/relationship issues – i.e., one partner’s more into the other, one has more issues with respecting boundaries, etc. If that's a concern, there are measures that can be taken to avoid it, such as positioning of bodies so one partner can't reach the other to bite them, or avoiding knotting, which increases the likelihood of a claim. You'll see how Lexa and Clarke work this all out together.

Even if the scent of it hadn't been rolling off of Clarke in heady waves, Lexa would have recognized the signs that Clarke is very close to her heat: the heightened warmth of her body where it rests against Lexa’s chest, the way she relaxes instantly at her touch, and the sudden onset of drowsiness. She will sleep heavily for much of the next day, waking only to eat ravenously; her body is preparing itself for its oncoming ordeal. As she deposits Clarke gently on the bed of furs, their intermingled scent still hanging in the air, Lexa worries at her lip; she’d thought they had more time.

But given that this is Clarke’s first heat on the ground, all bets are off; at this point all Lexa can do is make what preparations she can in the time they have. She uses the thought like a knife to cut through the fog in her brain that’s urging her to climb into the bed with her omega, and backs out of the tent.

Just outside the door she finds Lincoln and Octavia, hovering and smelling worried. Octavia nods at her and says, “How is she?”

“She’s fine,” Lexa says. “Asleep, for the moment, but when she wakes she’ll be hungry. I’m going to make some preparations, and then I will return. I trust that I can count on you both to make sure that no one enters?” Octavia and Lincoln both nod. “Good. Thank you. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

She strides off, but her usually brisk movements are leaden – every instinct she possesses is telling her not to leave the omega in the tent. _Mine,_ her alpha brain is snarling at every step away, _mine mine mine._

_Clarke is Clarke's,_ she tries to tell it, but it ignores her and continues its possessive chant.

Lexa sighs, running a hand through her hair in frustration. She knows why this is happening to her, of course; it’s not just the unusual intensity of Clarke’s heat, and of what she feels for the Sky girl. It’s also been a while since she last went into rut, far longer than usual even for her. All she can think is that the stress of the war, of uniting the twelve clans into the Coalition and forging the Alliance with the Sky People, must have prolonged the wait.

It seems, though, that Clarke’s approaching heat has prompted her body to return to its usual course. Lexa snarls in agitation at her slipping control over body’s urges; she hates that she feels this way, that she’s so much a slave to what her body demands, and she hates that it is of course happening at a time when she most needs to be able to maintain control – over herself, over the camp, and over the situation, lest it get badly out of hand. But this is what it means to be an alpha, and she’s just going to have to deal with it. Somehow.

Her skin feels itchy, hot and tight; her eyes seem sharper, or at least more sensitive, and her nose definitely is. She feels like a drawn bow, like a beast of prey. She wants to fuck someone, or failing that at least fight them, but she knows it'll be long hours before the training ring opens again. Nyko will be up at least – he’s tinkering in his workshop long into the night these days, trying to replace the stores of both medicine and knowledge that were destroyed when Finn burned Tondc’s storehouse. She knows he can make what she needs with ease – enough of her people need the tonics on a regular basis that she suspects a healer of his skill could probably make them in his sleep.

He's more than happy to make them for her, but he only has a couple of doses immediately available. He’ll start brewing more immediately, he tells her, but the tonics take a while to steep, and there have been an unusual amount of heats and ruts lately – probably, like hers, a product of the war’s stress, but it’s badly depleted his stocks. She takes what he has and thanks him, nosing delicately at the brown bottles as she leaves his hut and pulling back instantly. They smell _terrible,_ but especially the one he’s indicated is for Clarke. She makes a face and slips them into her pocket, her feet turning automatically back towards her tent, towards the smell of sleeping omega that acts like a guide and a lure. She sighs. She has a long night ahead of her.

Knowing that it's going to be very hard – _difficult,_ she amends, feeling her clit twitch at the poor choice of words  – to remain in the tent with Clarke, she redirects her steps towards the cooking tents. They're mostly done cleaning up from the night’s feast, but there are still a few sleepy-looking betas washing pots and pans. Lexa gives them orders to make sure that fresh food is to be ready for Clarke the instant she requests it, and when one of them dares to sigh darkly she fixes him with a glare and lets out a soft growl. He gulps audibly and rushes to stoke the fire. Momentarily satisfied, Lexa leaves them to their work and returns to her tent with a strange combination of excitement and trepidation roiling in her gut.

Octavia and Lincoln are there, heads bent together as they talk quietly. Lexa feels a brief flash of envy as she watches them; the way they are with one another is something she’s long wanted but hasn't dared to hope for since Costia died. The Commander often does not take a mate, either dying too soon to find one or not feeling able to trust anyone enough to make a claim. Lexa knows that this is the smartest, best way, and she knows she shouldn't be thinking this way – she’s only known Clarke for three months now, and part of that time as an enemy leader  – but she can't help it. Something about the Skaikru omega makes her think _Home._

Maybe her scent betrays some of her inner turmoil, because when Lincoln and Octavia catch wind of her – spirits help her if she had to sneak up on anyone right now, because the harsh, powerful smell of alpha is overpowering – their heads jerk up and they move to close ranks at the entrance to the tent before recognizing her. Their postures relax a bit, but they don't move out of the way. “Commander,” Lincoln says, ducking his head, and after a moment’s hesitation – just long enough to be insouciant but not long enough to warrant disciplinary action – Octavia follows suit. Lexa returns their submissive displays with an imperious nod.

“Are you going to let me into my own tent any time soon?” she says, letting a hint of a rumble into her tone. She’s tired, her clit is throbbing with the dull pressure that usually heralds its extension, and she could not be less pleased to find an omega and a beta blocking her way to her own bed. Octavia swallows.

“Are you sure that’s the best idea, Commander? Clarke is -”

“I am well aware of what Clarke’s condition is,” Lexa snaps before she can stop herself, then takes a couple of long, deep breaths and forces her shoulders to relax, her fists to unclench. _They're keeping me from my omega,_ her inner alpha roars, but Lexa shakes her head. _They're protecting her, like you asked them to,_ she tells it, trying to be reasonable. _They're not the enemy._

“Don't worry,” Lexa says, schooling her voice into calmness. “I can contain myself.”

Lincoln nods and begins to stand aside, and after a moment's hesitation Octavia follows. Lexa nods to them and enters the tent – only to get hit by a dizzying blast of _Clarke._

It's not as bad as it will be in a few hours, Lexa knows, but even in her pre-heat sleep-state Clarke’s difficult to resist. Lexa forces her steps to slow, pouring herself a cup of water from the jug on the table before she allows herself closer to the bed and the sleeping omega on it. Clarke is snoring quietly, and Lexa chuckles tiredly to herself. This is not a side of the Sky girl she gets to see very often – her mental image of Clarke is of an avenging golden goddess with fire in her eyes and death in her fist, not with soft snores making a strand of hair flutter and tickle her cheek.

Absentmindedly Lexa reaches out to brush the hair away from Clarke’s face, and realizes what a terrible idea that was the moment her hand makes contact with the smooth skin of the omega’s cheek. Her body is already much warmer than normal due to the onset of her heat, but the fire Lexa feels ignite inside of her is something else entirely. She’s filled with a towering urge to bury herself in Clarke, to entwine with her until they can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins, to never be parted from her.

Lexa groans, feeling her own body temperature spike in response. She backs up so fast she nearly trips on something – a pile of furs on the floor that Clarke must have shoved off in her sleep. After a last, longing glance at the bed and the girl in it, Lexa reaches down to pick them up and returns to the main room of the tent. She drapes the furs over her throne and then arranges herself as best she can to minimize the pressure between her legs, settling herself in for what she knows will be a very long night.

* * *

Lexa isn't quite sure whether she’s managed to sleep at all or not – she spends the night fading  in and out of what might be dreams and what might be exhaustion-addled fantasies – but the moment the sun comes up she's out of the tent like there’s a fire under her, eager to work out her frustration at the strain between her legs. As soon as she gets into the fresh air and out of the haze of Clarke’s scent, she feels better – but she also wants nothing more than to go back into its dizzying confines, to bury her nose in Clarke’s neck and breathe it in at the source, to sink her teeth into the soft skin and make sure that the omega’s scent is forever mixed with her own…

Her shaft extends to half its length at the thought, and Lexa growls. To stake a bonding claim without Clarke’s consent, without even talking about it, would be very nearly the worst thing she could do. She doesn't want to let anyone else knot Clarke – the mere thought makes her snarl high in her throat, startling a passing beta – but she also knows that it must be Clarke’s choice, not something done in a moment of uncontrolled passion.

She must talk to Clarke about the possibility, difficult though it might be – but the thought of the omega only makes her cock harden further. She takes a moment to readjust herself under the cover of her coat and then resumes stalking stiffly towards the cooking tents. If any of them are asleep right now, they're about to get a very rude awakening.

* * *

Clarke wakes to the comforting scent of alpha – of Lexa – all around her, and she feels better than she has in days. But the feeling is short-lived – the scent isn't fresh, and she can tell that Lexa didn't sleep beside her last night. She sits up, her head pounding and her mouth dry, and casts around for the Commander in the dimness of the tent even though she already knows she won't see her: she probably hasn't been in close proximity for an hour or more. Clarke whines, suddenly even more conscious of the feeling of emptiness, the low ache in her belly, the throb between her legs… And hunger. Good god, she's ravenous.

She gets out of the bed on shaky legs and totters over to the flap of the tent. She knows there's no way Lexa would have left her unguarded this close to her heat, and she's right: she catches Octavia’s scent just beyond the entrance, so she sticks her head out. “Have you seen Lexa?”

Octavia snorts. “Who hasn't? She's kind of on a rampage. I’d say that all we need to do is figure out a way to get her into Mount Weather and the war’s as good as over.”

At Clarke’s questioning look she elaborates. “She's snapped at about twenty people so far and even knocked down Ryder when he dared to question an order. Indra dragged her off to the training ground about an hour ago and I haven't seen her since.”

Clarke sighs and worries at her lip. She knows it’s something of a risk to be around Lexa in this state, but they need to talk more about what they’re going to do once Clarke’s heat hits in earnest. “Do you think…can you go get her?” Clarke asks, trying and failing not to sound miserable and hopeful.

Octavia turns, her face falling immediately at Clarke’s tone. “Are you sure, Clarke? She's kind of…out of control right now. I don't know if she’ll have worked off enough of the tension.”

“I know,” Clarke says, “but…I need to talk to her. And…I'm really hungry.” Her stomach doesn't just growl now, it _roars._ Octavia’s eyebrows rise.

“I can hear that. Okay, Princess, let me just get Lincoln to take guard duty and then I'll go and find your Commander.”

“She’s not _my_ Commander,” Clarke shouts after her, but Octavia just laughs. Clarke retreats into the welcoming darkness of the tent to brood.

The thought of Lexa being hers – and her being Lexa’s – is not one that’s come to her often, but she can't deny that it seems attractive to her right now. She knows that’s got to be largely because of her heat – most people on the Ark hadn’t pairbonded at eighteen, and she was personally never crazy about it, but the thought of Lexa marking her, sinking her teeth into her neck to claim her, and seeing her own mark on Lexa’s skin, makes a pleased rumble start in her chest. Annoyed, Clarke stops it – _stupid heat –_ but the moment she lets her mind drift it starts again.

She feels like Octavia’s taking forever and she wants to seek out Lexa herself, but she knows that’d be the opposite of helpful right now. Lexa’s probably on the training ground, fighting off her rut by beating her warriors into the ground, and the smell of an unmated omega this close to her heat would probably drive them all insane. The image of Lexa fighting, maybe shirtless – the wiry, powerful muscles in her arms bulging as she parries and thrusts, her washboard stomach flexing as she moves – makes Clarke shudder and ache, and she shuts down that line of thinking immediately. The last thing she needs to do is start releasing pheromones all over the place and making everyone in the vicinity crazy. She’s only been through a few heats in her lifetime, but she likes to think she has better manners than that.

But there’s another truth to it, beyond the fact that she wants Lexa. It’s the reason _why_ she decided to stay in the camp for her heat instead of making her way to the beta compound, where she’d be miserable for three days to a week, but safe. Lexa’s become more than just an ally and a lover; she’s become a trusted confidante, a _friend_. She’s who Clarke goes to when her mother’s being unreasonable, or when she just can’t handle Bellamy, or when she wants a sounding board off of whom to bounce ideas. There’s something steadying and calming about being in the Commander’s presence that has nothing to do with alphas or omegas or pheromones. It reminds her bittersweetly of how she’d seen her parents interact: the way they’d soothed and reassured one another with a few words, or a light touch. Clarke and Lexa have never mated and they’re certainly not bonded, but the Grounder alpha’s had a similar effect on her for longer than she’d like to admit.

And then there’s the other effect that Lexa has on her. She’d felt it from the moment she stepped into the tent and locked eyes with the Commander: this was the strongest alpha she’d ever met. The dominance, charisma, and pure arrogance that rolled off of her in waves; the way she wore command like a well-fitted coat – these things had both infuriated Clarke and aroused her at the same time.

She paces the tent to try to calm herself, wondering when the room got so hot and her clothes got so scratchy. Oh, right – the fun part’s starting. Soon her skin will become so sensitive that mere fabric sliding over it will be painful, and the only thing that will be able to soothe it will be the touch of her alpha. Clarke rolls her eyes and groans. Her omega brain is so _stupid_ sometimes but she hates that it’s right. She wants Lexa. She focuses on the ways that she’s already had her: Lexa’s just as good with her hands and her mouth as she is with her cock, and always makes sure that Clarke’s come multiple times before she seeks out her own pleasure. For all that she’d seemed immeasurably arrogant when they’d first met, she’s a surprisingly considerate lover, always checking in with Clarke before trying something new and constantly seeking out ways to drive her insane with pleasure.

But now Clarke finds herself fascinated by what she’s often sensed Lexa holding in check: the primal side, the _alpha._ She’s had sex with Lexa but never _mated_ with her, never had the sensation of being taken and knotted and filled by her, and she can’t help but be curious about the way Lexa will behave in the grip of a rut. Clarke’s never been a particularly submissive omega – she frequently scoffs at the idea that all omegas are – but there’s part of her that badly wants to be ravished by the Commander and is nearly tearing her hair out at the thought.

As though Clarke’s thoughts had called her here, Lexa’s smell suddenly pervades Clarke’s senses, and she smells so _good_ – so strong and harsh and dominant – that she has to force herself to stay upright as the Commander enters the tent, and to keep her eyes from snapping immediately to the bulge between her legs that seems to grow larger with every step. Clarke can smell the arousal rolling off of the Commander spike as she catches wind of her, and she can’t help a tiny smirk at the way Lexa has to stop short and take a moment to get control of herself. Lexa lets out a low growl as she stalks towards the table to drop the plates she’s carrying, moving more stiffly than usual. The growl does things to Clarke’s nether regions that make her whine before she can help herself. Now it’s Lexa’s turn to smirk.

She drops herself into a chair by one of the plates, pouring herself a cup of juice from a jug and chugging it down, very aware of how Clarke’s eyes follow the movements of her throat as she swallows. Clarke’s fairly certain she’s sitting with a wider stance than is necessary to accommodate the growing bulge in her pants, but she makes no move to readjust herself – she’s giving the omega the opportunity to enjoy the view, knowing that Clarke can’t keep herself from looking. Clarke growls softly, and the smirk drops off Lexa’s face.

“Stop playing games and come eat, Clarke,” Lexa says roughly. “I could hear your stomach growling from the training ground.”

Lexa’s words remind Clarke of just how ravenous she is, and she makes her way to the table, getting her hand on it quickly to avoid giving away how unsteady her legs are. She drops into the chair across from Lexa and is grateful that the table’s too wide to allow her to play footsie. She knows she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from running her foot up the Commander’s thigh and digging the point of her toe very gently into the join between her legs and her –

“ _Food,_ Clarke,” Lexa orders, and Clarke finds herself obeying, tearing into the roasted game bird in front of her without a second thought. She blinks and she’s halfway through the meal before she can get angry that Lexa’s just used her alpha voice on her; half of her brain is stolen anyway with processing just how _sexy_ that was.

"Don't do that again, Lexa," Clarke says warningly, but the alpha only chuckles. She knows that Clarke has a very, _very_ secret kink for not being in control, and she can smell the omega's spike of arousal. It had taken her some time to discover it, and even now, after they’ve been having sex for a while, Clarke rarely lets it out, but she knows these next few days will be different.

“We need to talk about mating,” Lexa blurts out before she can stop herself, making Clarke drop the drumstick she’s tearing into. She sees color rising into the Sky girl’s cheeks and knows that her own must be brightening as well, but she’s gotten herself into this mess and she needs to see it through. “I’m assuming…you don’t want a claim?”

Clarke blinks at the question. She knows that Grounders’ culture around pairbonding is different than theirs – Octavia had related Lincoln’s initial sadness when she’d refused to bond with him, and how his hurt had only truly faded when he saw the number of unmated Arkers, many of them older than Octavia. He had explained it once by saying, “Lives are often short on the ground. We take the love and solace of a mate where we can find it, and leave worrying about longevity to the future because it’s not certain.”

At the time she’d found it to be simplistic and archaic, but now, with her heat so close and the strongest alpha in the camp sitting barely contained in pants that look _painted on_ , it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. But she knows that that’s the heat talking, her inner omega searching for a claim, a mate, someone to fill her up with young. People on the Ark hadn’t typically pairbonded until their middle twenties; her parents had been considered rather impetuous when they’d announced their bond at twenty-two. There had also been plenty of murmuring about a beta male/alpha female couple, but that was a separate issue.

Clarke forces herself to focus, continuing to eat because it seems to help. “That’s…that’s right. I’m not ready for that, Lexa.” A change in the alpha’s scent prompts her to look up abruptly and catch Lexa in a rare unguarded moment. Even now, after having been together for a month and a half, it’s not a common sight – Lexa always feels the need to be in control of her emotions and, therefore, the situation. Sometimes it’s useful and sometimes it irritates Clarke to no end, but she always reminds herself that there _is_ someone human under the mask of the Commander. The way Lexa had looked at her months ago when they’d been fighting about something – probably land rights, the Arkers trying to farm in places where the Grounders hunted – and she’d stepped forward and kissed her so, so softly, nothing like an alpha should but like everything Clarke needed. Then she had looked scared and hopeful and achingly, terribly young, nothing like the ancient leader she’s supposed to be and everything like the nineteen-year-old with the weight of the world on her shoulders that she is.

Now Clarke sees something like sadness or regret shining in her eyes, before their typical emotionless veneer snaps back into place, and Lexa nods. Yet the hurt she’d seen just a moment before brings Clarke to blurt out, “Not yet,” and the sudden hope that sparks in Lexa’s gaze brings a flood of relief.

“That’s perfectly acceptable,” Lexa says, and if her voice isn’t as steady as it could be Clarke doesn’t mention it. “In that case, I think we should give the suppressing tonics a try, to test their effects on us. I doubt that they’ll be enough to tamp down your heat entirely, but they may reduce its intensity and allow us to retain a modicum of control – enough to avoid doing something we might regret.” She doesn’t say what she wants to – that _she_ wouldn’t regret it, that she cares far more about the Sky omega than she should but she’s rapidly coming to care less and less about what she should and shouldn’t do in that regard – but simply slides Clarke’s tonic across the table towards her, keeping the other bottle for herself.

Clarke regards the small brown bottle with interest and trepidation. Much as she might enjoy the thought of Lexa losing control and claiming her, she knows it'll be better for both of them if they reduce that risk. If nothing else, it'll mean that they can worry less about accidentally forming a bond and just enjoy the mating. She uncorks it, eyeing Lexa as she slowly does the same, and then raises it as though making a toast. “Bottoms up.” She downs the tonic like a shot.

Lexa’s not familiar with the phrase, but she follows Clarke’s lead, grimacing at the bitter burn on the back of her tongue. From what she understands, the medicine will come into effect sooner rather than later – or not. There are some alphas for whom the tonic takes little of the edge off, and the only things that help their rut are fighting or mating. Lexa feels a slow, unpleasant burn starting in her gut and wonders if she might be one of them.

Without warning, Clarke lurches forward and vomits up the tonic, plus a healthy amount of her lunch, into an empty bowl. Lexa’s around the table in a flash, holding her hair away from her face and pushing a cup of water into her hand as soon as she’s done retching. The omega takes a few shuddering gasps, her face pale and sweaty, before rinsing out her mouth with water and spitting it into the bowl. After a couple of shaky breaths, Clarke mutters, “Well, I guess that answers that.”

Lexa nods, suddenly reminded of her own medicine. Her body hasn’t rejected it in such a violent manner as Clarke’s – but it doesn't seem to be doing much for it either. The urgency of the need between her legs has been overshadowed by her concern for Clarke, but as soon as it becomes clear that the Sky girl’s not in any danger, it comes roaring back, pressing insistently against the seam of her trousers. Lexa hastily puts the table back between herself and Clarke and sits, drumming her fingers nervously as the omega wipes her mouth and pushes the bowl away from herself disgustedly.

“I’ll get you some more food,” the Commander says abruptly, rising and turning on her heel.

Clarke feels the loss of her presence immediately and says “Wait!” before she can stop herself. Her voice affects Lexa like it’s an order; the alpha spins to face her, desire flashing across her face before she masters herself.

“I won’t be long, Clarke,” she says, her voice low in a way that would be soothing if it weren’t also saying she’s going to leave. She picks up Clarke’s tray and practically shoots out of the tent, leaving her own barely touched – from what Clarke remembers, alphas going into rut tend to experience a suppression of appetite, their bodies going into fight-or-mate mode and suppressing all other urges.

Lexa’s never acted this much like an alpha before, Clarke thinks. It isn't that she's not dominant, or that she’s unwilling to show it, but it's always been tempered by restraint that few other alphas can show when their blood’s up. It's the sort of thing that tends to drive betas and omegas insane – an alpha’s insatiable need to control and dominate every aspect of the situation – and yet Lexa has always exercised control of a different sort, which Clarke has always appreciated. Way too many strategy sessions and planning meetings have been broken up with alphas trying to roar one another down; Lexa doesn’t involve herself in those squabbles except to end them. Lexa’s far too sensible to neglect herself even in rut, Clarke knows, and yet she can’t help the flash of concern she feels at the thought. 

Because with her approaching heat and Lexa’s own oncoming rut that tight self-control is slipping, and Clarke wonders just how long it will take before she sees the animal, the beast within. The thought sends a fresh wave of excitement and arousal pulsing through her body, straight down to her center, and she can't help but let out a quiet moan. Lexa is usually a kind, gentle, considerate lover, utterly devoted to Clarke’s pleasure. It's not that Clarke doesn't appreciate that – God knows she does – but there's a dark, secret place inside her that longs to be taken, claimed, _devoured._

She's jolted by a flash of panic – is this it? Is it starting? – but no, she still feels warmth and heaviness, tempered by hunger, that tells her that her first order of business is to eat well and sleep, to rest her body for what it’s about to go through. She sighs, running a hand through her hair and pressing her thighs together in a vain attempt to soothe the ache between her legs. At least there’s something of a lull right now in their war with Mount Weather. Aggravating as it might be to deal with, her heat could _definitely_ have come at a worse time.

She feels like she waits forever for Lexa, though she knows by the speed with which the alpha comes rushing back into the tent that it can't have been more than a few minutes. She's carrying a fresh plate of food for Clarke and she dumps it on the table like she can't wait to get rid of it and get out of there. The thought is suddenly intolerable to Clarke and she’s up and around the table in an instant, crowding into Lexa’s space and trapping her against the table in a way that’s…familiar. Clarke’s eyes hold Lexa’s and she lets just a hint of challenge into them, knowing what it'll do to an alpha so close to rut. Lexa lets out a warning growl; her eyes have gone nearly black and Clarke feels a rush of heat and wetness between her legs.

She wants to step back, take in the entire picture – the Commander, every muscle in her body straining tight like steel bands with the effort of restraint while her eyes scream danger, passion, _want._ And yet she has the equal and opposing impulse to take a step closer, to nose up under Lexa’s jaw and breathe in the desire and the strength there, to raise her chin and offer her own. She finds herself starting to do so and sees Lexa’s eyes darken even further at the offer of submission; with a wrenching effort of will Clarke reaches through the lust clouding her brain and snaps her head back down. Lexa’s growl is louder this time and her body jolts, as though she’s just barely managed to keep herself from springing forward and bearing Clarke to the floor and _taking her._

They come back to themselves at roughly the same time and the moment is broken. Lexa’s the first to speak, something Clarke hears with a mixture of regret and relief: “I should go. You're very close to…and I'm…” She has to close her eyes and swallow before she can go on. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes out, not sure if she believes herself, and from the looks of it Lexa doubts her sincerity as well. “You probably should.” All at once she's very tired again – so tired she stumbles against Lexa’s shoulder as she turns towards the bed.

The sudden contact makes Lexa aware of a change in Clarke’s scent, reminding her that the omega is not yet in heat and vulnerable, to be protected. Her hand comes up automatically to Clarke’s elbow and she guides her gently but firmly towards the bed, helping her down and drawing a light covering over her.

“Rest, Clarke,” she says. “There are some further preparations I must make but I will see you soon.” Clarke lets out a quiet whine as she turns to go but the omega’s already half asleep, and Lexa slips out of the tent without much further effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual: let me know what you think.


	3. they know you walk like you're a god / they can't believe i made you weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thank you all again for that wonderful response! I hope I've been able to leave you with more answers than questions. 
> 
> Just a little bit more explanation to get through: in the vast diversity of headcanons that make up omegaverse, it's reasonably well acknowledged that people tend to behave more like canids than they usually do. How much or how little that difference is, well, that's generally up to the author. There's a theory that omegaverse grew out of werewolf tropes, after all. I've taken that theory and run with it - specifically in the concept of an alpha's voice. In a lot of werewolf (fan)fiction, alphas have a controlling element to their voices that makes those within their packs, and sometimes outside of it, submit - based on the dominance of the alpha, and of whomever they're attempting to control. So a weaker alpha may even have difficulty controlling a more dominant beta, and two alphas may find the strength of their wills relatively evenly matched - though an alpha on his or her home turf will typically be more confident, and thus have home-court advantage when it comes to a contest of dominance ;P

Clarke sleeps through the day and part of the next, waking only to eat nearly her weight’s worth and complain to Octavia about how warm it is and could they please turn down the thermostat, and to hit on her stupidly after mumbling that she wants Lexa before falling back asleep again. Octavia takes it mostly in good humor but at one point Clarke has a burst of spite and takes a snap at her hand when she says Lexa isn’t there that actually connects. Lincoln comes in to bring her meals after that, and Clarke can feel the calming waves of beta pheromones washing over her. She smiles at him with tired gratefulness before wolfing down the food and nearly falling asleep again on her empty plate.

Once, maybe twice - she's not quite sure – she wakes up out of a dead sleep, smelling alpha. _Her_ alpha. It's got to be Lexa, she thinks blearily, and she's struggling out of the haze of sleep as she hears raised voices and a low growl that sends heat pulsing through her entire body. But then the smell’s intensity recedes and she flops back down onto the bed with a sigh, nosing her way dejectedly further into the furs in search of Lexa’s scent.

Her dreams are mostly sensations, hands and mouths inside her and on her, pressing her to a bed or a wall or pulling her against overheated skin. On occasion vivid images swim to the surface, so intense she might have sworn that they weren’t dreams at all if she didn’t wake up from them just before climax, gasping and clenching emptily around nothing, to whimper and slide back under the tide of exhaustion.

In the most vivid and explicit of her dreams, her heat flares up in a painful burst of sensation, her entire body one live wire of overstimulation. She thrashes and moans on the bed, kicking off furs and clothes until she’s naked, but it’s still not enough. The aching emptiness within her, the yearning to be filled and fucked and claimed, makes her drag herself off the bed and out into the night in search of…someone.

Then they’re there, all of the alphas in the camp, smelling so strong and harsh that her knees buckle and she moans. Their eyes gleam hungrily as they take in her body, and it feels like a hot bath after wandering naked in the cold. There’s a vague sense at the back of her mind that she should be embarrassed, to be seen entirely bare by all of these unfamiliar people, but she can’t remember why and she quickly dismisses the concern.

Several scents begin to distinguish themselves from the general haze of alpha smell, just in time – she’s on the verge of throwing herself into their midst just so she can be immersed in it – and a few faces as well. They push themselves forward through the crowd, and Clarke lets out a moan, her entire body trembling. She knows her pheromones must be calling to all of them but these are the strongest, the ones most suited to answer her call, to mate her and fulfill her heat. She doesn’t know them; all she knows is that they’re what she needs.

Two of them take hold of her and she melts, goes boneless and utterly limp in their arms because their heated touch on her burning skin is the best thing she can ever remember feeling. They sink to the ground, a tangle of limbs and mouths and skin, and they might have been wearing clothes before they came to her but they aren’t now. She can vaguely feel the watching eyes of the other alphas as the two begin to explore her, hands roaming over her curves and cupping her breasts, squeezing and pinching the nipples into tight, hard points, and while ordinarily the thought would have repulsed her right now the knowledge that they’re all going to watch her be taken by the strongest among them makes her bite back a moan.

The male settles her back against his chest and she can feel his hard length pressing into her backside. She arches herself back further against him, pleading silently for him to fill her, but his hands are strong on her hips and hold her against him, giving her just enough pressure to drive her wild but not enough to fulfill her need. The other is above her then, eyes darkened with paint in a way that’s strange and savage but also sparks a familiar desire in Clarke’s gut. She aches to run her hands over the warrior’s body, to caress the subtle curves of hips and feel the powerful flexing of lean, hard muscles as the alpha moves over her. But the male behind her is holding her fast, one hand digging blunt nails into her shoulder and the other tracing lazy circles around the curve of a breast.

The female begins to explore her body as well, her hands firm and sure and possessive. Clarke writhes and pants against them, agonized by their tantalizing brushes and too-brief pressures, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Just when she's sure she's going to explode into a writhing, miserable mess of want, the alpha above her abruptly lowers her body to Clarke’s, hard lines fitting seamlessly against Clarke’s curves, and she sighs with satisfaction at the warmth and strength covering her. Her hands come up to grip at the female’s back, nails digging into the hard muscles. They're pressed together everywhere except where she wants the pressure most – the female’s holding her hips away from Clarke’s.

 _Please_ , she wants to beg, _please fill me, claim me, knot me,_ but she’s beyond words; all that comes out of her mouth is a pitiful whine as her hips thrust uselessly upwards. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire where the alphas are touching her, but nowhere more so than her empty, aching sex. The alpha above her releases a low growl and her body dips lower, just a little bit, enough so that Clarke can feel the tip of her cock brushing against her dripping folds as she struggles but not enough so that she can get what she wants. They’re waiting for something, but she can’t figure out what; all she knows in this moment is that they’re depriving her of what her body needs. They seem unspeakably cruel to her but their aloofness makes her only want them more.

She whines again, louder, and feels the male’s hand trail down her hip, across her thigh, and tantalizingly brush across her clit, making her hips buck. But she can’t get anywhere near enough stimulation from him – he won’t press hard enough, won’t stay in one place for long enough – and it only winds up increasing her torment. She can feel the eyes of all the alphas around her watching, waiting, hungrily – can hear their low growls, smell their envy. It must be clear to everyone that she wants them with the way that she’s writhing and struggling to take them, the way she smells unabashedly of need. She can see and feel their lengths, hard and ready for her, but she can’t understand why she hasn’t been claimed.

 _“Let go,”_ the female alpha growls in a harsh, barely human rasp. Clarke lets herself fall against the chest of the male behind her and tips her head back against his shoulder, exposing her throat.

Simultaneously she feels teeth grasping at her neck almost hard enough to break the skin, and then the thick, flared head of the female alpha’s cock is pressing into her, parting her slick, heated folds. She moans as it slides into her wetness, the stretch nearly painful but also filling a deeper need, cutting like a knife through the awful emptiness that’s been burning inside of her. The alpha moves torturously slow, but Clarke is tantalized by the sensations and remains utterly still, every muscle in her body drawn tight. When she feels the alpha’s hips drawn flush against hers she can't hold back her moan, or the way she clenches down around the hard member filling her. It's everything she wants, everything she needs – almost.

“Please,” she finds herself begging, her words coming out in a barely coherent rush against the heated skin of the alpha’s neck. “Please move, please, fill me, knot me, fuck me –”

 _“Patience,”_ she hears the male murmur into her ear before the female withdraws nearly to the tip of her cock – Clarke cries out in despair, clenching in a vain attempt to keep the length inside of her – and then impales her again, sheathing herself to the hilt, and her misery is drowned in waves of pleasure. The female begins thrusting at a nearly brutal pace but it's just what Clarke needs, exactly what she needs, especially when the male’s fingers finally reach down to her clit and begin to circle it with a firm, steady pressure.

Clarke feels herself slipping away in the riptide of pleasure, losing her sense of who she is and only remaining conscious of her part in the ageless dance of alpha and omega. The face above her blurs and shifts, sometimes recognizable, sometimes not, but the pleasure she's being given builds and builds. She feels so close to some ultimate peak and she thinks she's going to burst into stardust. She hears the female speak again, and it's surprisingly tender for the violence with which she's being taken. She knows that voice and it makes everything else fade away.

“ _I am here, Clarke. I am yours, and you are mine.”_

And then it’s only Lexa above her, within her, filling her, and just as Clarke cries out and begins to come she leans forward, presses her mouth to Clarke’s pulse point, and bites. Utter bliss fills her brain, almost entirely downing out the pain of the mark, because she’s being taken, claimed, mated at last. Her jaws ache to answer it and Lexa’s neck is there before her, cords of muscle standing out with the effort of continuing her brutal pace, and before she can think about anything more than _This, this is what I need, this is_ right, Clarke’s reached up and made her answering mark.

* * *

Lexa does come in search of Clarke – three times, in fact – and is turned away by Lincoln and Octavia each time, much to her fury. But when she’d left the tent after bringing Clarke food she had ordered both of them to look at her and said, letting just enough command leak into her voice to make sure she’d be obeyed, that they were to allow no one into the tent except one another and Nyko – no, not even Lexa. After attaining their affirmatives she stalks away towards the training ground, trying to ignore the way her cock is straining against her pants.  


She orders Indra to select her best beta warriors to train with her for the rest of the day. That's been her custom the last few times she's gone into rut – training so hard against strong betas that her body’s too exhausted to even contemplate mating. But for whatever reason the fighting only works her up more this time. Maybe it's because she knows that there's a willing, waiting omega back in her tent, but she swears she catches a tinge of Clarke’s scent with every breath she takes, like it’s somehow caught in her nose. She tries breathing through her mouth but that's worse – now she can not only smell Clarke, but taste her.

She can sense Indra’s concern from where she watches at the edge of the sparring ring as Lexa pummels her most seasoned warriors into the ground, and eventually the general steps into the melee herself. Lexa can tell that the beta’s pumping out calming pheromones, and she shoots her a grateful look. But her relief is short-lived – a sudden strong gust carries Clarke’s scent across the campground and Lexa’s halfway out of the ring before she’s thrown to the ground and pinned there by Indra and Fio. “Sloppy, Heda,” the general spits, and Lexa snarls back at them, but without conviction. She knows what they've just done for her and she’s grateful.

The next time it happens, though, she doesn't take it with nearly as much grace, in part because of the arrival of Octavia’s brother, Bellamy. Not aware that other alphas are supposed to keep out of the area where she’s training so as not to agitate her into a dominance display, he wanders over to the training ground and leans on the fence to watch the sparring. Lexa can sense him on the periphery, can smell his harsh, agitated stink, and knows that things on the ground must be rough for him too – though she’s not feeling very charitable at the moment and is finding it difficult to care. After delivering a blow that she’s pretty sure breaks someone’s nose, she turns to snarl at him to step off – omega or no omega, she  _is_ the dominant alpha in this camp and she won't have her orders disobeyed by some Skaikru pup – when the wind gusts again and they both freeze as they catch the scent.

I ndra preemptively puts her in a headlock and by the time she’s struggled out of it the scent has faded – but the Blake boy is gone. “Ryder,” she snaps, and jerks her head in the direction of her tent. The tall beta understands instantly and heads away at a swift clip. She knows she can count on Ryder to head Bellamy off.

The betaRyder returns with a sullen-looking Bellamy in tow, grudgingly having agreed to remain where he and the Commander can both be watched. It’s a slight nod to the strength of the Sky boy that she considers him enough of a threat to need monitoring – but not much. She knows that she’ll rip him limb from limb if he tries to go anywhere near Clarke when she –

“Heda,” says Indra with a low warning growl, and Lexa realizes that she’s taken an unconscious step closer to where Bellamy slouches by Ryder, a deep rumble vibrating through her chest. Lexa stops growling but doesn't stop glaring at him, wondering how angry it'd make Clarke if she just mangles him preemptively.  _Better not risk it,_ she thinks, and her clit twitches as she imagines what she might lose. A firm smack to the back of her head makes her whirl around and snarl to see Indra glaring at her. Ordinarily the beta wouldn't take such liberties, but Lexa’s orders were clear: no one is to disturb Clarke until her heat begins in earnest, not even the Commander.

It only grows worse as the day goes on. The shaft of her clit has thickened and hardened, and moving and fighting with its pressure against her trousers is bordering on painful. The sun’s beating down on her shoulders and her skin is hot and tight and sensitive, so much so that wearing clothing is getting uncomfortable. Her jacket comes off first, but that's not enough; her shirt is next, and soon she’s sparring in nothing but her pants and bindings. It’s not unusual behavior for most warriors on a hot day; while the Commander’s typically expected to have a little more self-control, at this point Lexa doesn't care.

Clouds roll in on a quickening wind, but bring no relief from the heat and humidity. The coming summer storm, coupled with the prospect of an unmated omega on the verge of heat, is enough to turn the camp into a powder keg. Ordinarily Lexa would be striding around, breaking up the scuffles she sees starting at the edges of her periphery, but at this point she knows she would probably start more fights than she ends. So she trains harder, pushing her body to its limits until even Bellamy looks impressed. Indra’s scowl confirms that this display of her dominance is unbecoming of the Commander, but she can't keep a smirk off her face.

And then it happens. The breeze gusts again and all of a sudden the scent that was tantalizing becomes irresistible. She sees heads jerk around towards its source and bodies make movements in its direction, but she’s already in motion, vaulting the fence with one hand and warning the rest of them off with a full-throated roar.

But there's one who won't be deterred, one who doesn't consider himself under her command and while he'd likely respect her authority in her own camp under ordinary circumstances, these are no ordinary circumstances. This is _Clarke._

Bellamy’s taking a slightly different route towards the tent at the camp’s center, but it's clear where he's going, and at a good clip too. Praying that her knowledge of the camp will allow her to get there first, Lexa puts on a burst of speed, growling under her breath as she sees the top of her tent come into view. Her world’s narrowed to a few very sharp, clear impulses: get to the omega. Get to Clarke. Mate Clarke. Knot her, before Bellamy – before anyone else – can. Every other thought is drowned out in a red tide of rage and desire.

* * *

The full onset of Clarke’s heat comes gradually. It pulls her out of increasingly convoluted dreams, bodies and acts tangling and blurring together until everything ends in entwined fulfillment.

The lack of it in the physical world makes Clarke pulse emptily in her sleep, craving what she sees in her dreams, and eventually she can’t stay within them any longer. When she wakes, the furs are tangled around her ankles, her entire body is soaked with sweat, and she’s so sensitive that the damp slide of fabric across her skin is painful.

Her movements hazy and sluggish, she kicks the bedclothes off and begins tugging at her clothing. She knows she shouldn’t – there isn’t exactly a way to lock a _tent_ , and anyone can just come in here and see her naked, and she _definitely_ shouldn’t be finding that thought arousing, but it is. Her sex aches emptily and her clit is burning, throbbing and pulsing like a second heartbeat; her hand is halfway down her stomach before she catches herself. There are probably pheromones pouring off of her already, and touching herself will only increase their call. She also knows it will do little for her – only mating can really help soothe a heat. She nearly sobs in frustration.

The searing warmth coursing through her body only increases, and time soon ceases to have any meaning for her as she keeps her hands fisted in the furs of Lexa’s bed, struggling to keep them off her sex. She feels like she’s utterly swollen with want and must have ruined the bed with all of the wetness that’s slicking her entrance. The thought makes her bite her lip to stifle a moan and throw her head back against the bed to avoid looking. That turns out to be a bad idea, however; her nose has gotten just as oversensitive as her skin, and she can smell her and Lexa’s scents tangled together.

She lets out a gasp and pulls her nose away from the furs, but it’s too late. With a groan, her traitorous fingers release the bedclothes and shoot down to her clit, circling and kneading and rubbing with a lot more force than she usually uses, but right now she feels like she needs all of it, and more. With no trouble at all, she slides two fingers into her pulsing center, and then a third. It only takes a few swift pumps of her hand before she’s coming, another wave of slickness rushing from her, and she can’t help herself: she cries out, throwing her head back against the pillow, even as she continues frantically rubbing at the hard bundle of her clit. She can’t imagine stopping – not until there’s an alpha above her, inside her.

She smells them before she hears them – what must be half a hundred scents, thick and strong and heady with arousal. They’re unfamiliar but she breathes them in anyway, taking comfort in the way they sing to her of _alpha._ Yet a tendril of fear manages to pierce the fog of arousal in her brain, and she thinks, _Lexa. Where is Lexa?_ She’s so far gone at this point that she can almost imagine that any alpha, any knot would do to soothe her heat. But the sudden thought of an unknown alpha above her, within her, pouring their release inside her and claiming her with their knot and perhaps even their bite, makes her fingers finally still. She isn’t sure what she can possibly do to stop the alphas who are now crowding around the tent, excited whispers and low growls reaching her ears, but she has to…has to think of something…

A loud snarl rips through the air and she’s suddenly engulfed in a familiar scent, dark and protective and strong. _Bellamy._ It isn’t who she wants, who her body craves, but as his growls fill her ears she can’t help but be relieved. The unfamiliar alphas don’t seem to be coming any closer, though neither does Bellamy – she can smell his arousal, but he’s just outside the tent. She can’t understand why – until she realizes that he’s keeping the other alphas away. Gratitude and frustration pour through her in equal measure, muddying her thoughts.

Just as she’s ready to go and _drag_ Bellamy into the tent, nakedness be damned, she hears another snarl – though this is more like a guttural roar. The sound tips her well over the edge from embarrassingly wet to utterly dripping, and she thinks she could nearly come from that noise alone. Only a strong alpha – the strongestof alphas – could make such a sound, she thinks, and she knows exactly who it came from.

_Lexa._

But neither Lexa nor Bellamy storm into the tent to take her, and as the snarling continues Clarke’s torn between the agony between her legs and a burning desire to see what’s going on outside. The growls speak of protectiveness, of dominance, of the right to mate and claim the available omega – and knows that if one of them doesn’t back down soon, they’re going to fight. Alphas sometimes battle to the death for omegas, the likelihood increased the stronger the alpha – and Bellamy and Lexa are both very dominant. She can’t see either of them giving ground any time soon. Clarke somewhat hates herself for how wet the thought makes her. Ordinarily she has no patience for this kind of stupid alpha bullshit. But right now the idea of two strong alphas fighting over her is about the most erotic thing she can think of.

Her concern for Bellamy and Lexa wins out, and she slowly and achingly begins to pull on her shorts and shirt, not bothering with pants or a bra. Even the slight drag of the material over her skin makes her moan and shiver with sensation on the border of pleasure and pain, but she forces her heat-addled brain to focus. _Just a little longer. Just a little longer and I’ll be mated, and this stupid heat will be manageable._

She knows what she has to do.

* * *

As she nears the tent, Lexa can see a small crowd gathering around the entrance. By the smell they're alphas, most of them sporting a bulge in their pants as a result of the waves of pheromones pouring out of the canvas structure. The combined force of their eagerness and interest and Clarke’s need has forced Octavia and Lincoln away from the door. In the right circumstances and with a dominant beta and a less powerful alpha, a beta’s scent can render an alpha impotent; it's gone on long enough, though, that the possibility of an easy resolution is gone.

The alphas circling the tent are growing more restive, starting to push and shove and growl to get closer. Some – most likely those who know they have little to no chance to knot the omega in the tent – break off in snapping, snarling tangles, to fight or find a mate to take the edge off until Clarke’s call is answered. They're so intent on either Clarke or one another that when Lexa approaches, roaring out her claim, most of them jump back on instinct. A few hold their ground until they see who it is, and after a moment of scenting the air duck their heads with frustration burning in their eyes, ceding their position to her dominance. She can’t help strutting forward towards the waiting alphas, and they give ground before her. A few of them let out low growls or make short movements towards her as she passes, but a snarl and a warning glare are enough to keep them away. Her inner alpha preens at being recognized as the strongest, most dominant alpha in the camp, the worthiest to mate the omega she can smell keening with a need that makes her cock extend nearly to its full length.

There's nothing standing in her way of claiming what's rightfully hers – except the dark-haired alpha just at the entrance to the tent. If she were in her right mind Lexa would realize that he’s the reason why no one’s made it inside yet – truly incredible, considering the force of Clarke’s call – but right now she’s going into a red-eyed rut and all she can think is that Bellamy’s keeping her from her prize.

They're both hunched and shaking with need, but Lexa forces her shoulders back as much as she can and lifts her chin, locking her gaze with his. Bellamy growls at the challenge and Lexa returns it with a snarl of her own. But there's another voice in the back of her head, one that isn't pulsing with the need to fuck and mate and kill, and it finally screams loud enough to get through to her. Clarke’s likely in extreme duress – unclaimed omegas in heat experience desire to the point of pain, Lexa’s been told, until they're mated – and the sounds and scents of two alphas fighting will draw her like a moth to the flame. The pheromones that both of them are pumping out smell harshly of challenge to one another, but they'll be both appealing and agonizing to Clarke. In turn, her miserable need will whip both of them into a frenzy. They might even do enough damage to one another that neither of them will be able to mate her, and another alpha will slip into the tent. Clarke will find herself unwilling but unable to resist mating with someone she doesn't even know.

The thought incenses Lexa but also serves to focus her. Taking deep breaths through her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to clear the smell of heat and alpha stink from her nose, she manages to say through a growl, “Bellamy, move aside.”

He doesn’t answer except to growl louder, taking another half-step forward until he’s nearly within arm’s reach. She can't decide whether she’s more angry or relieved that she’d left her weapons at the training ground. All she has now is the hope that Bellamy’s still able to listen to reason.

She lets the alpha into her voice, the dominance that comes with not only being alpha but also Heda, the Commander of the Twelve Clans. She might not be Bellamy’s leader but this is her territory and she _will_ be respected, as the dominant alpha here. “Don’t fight me,” she says, the extra resonant layer in her tone enough to make the people around them back away; some even drop to their knees on pure instinct. “You know it’ll only make things worse for Clarke.” Bellamy flinches as though struck, but he stands his ground.

Lexa knows that she’s losing control, her vision blurring red. She's about to reach out for his throat, to start a fight that neither of them wants but that their instincts are screaming is necessary, when they hear a low, raspy voice. “Lexa?”

She’s instantly both calmed and excited, and impressed that Clarke’s even able to walk in her current state. As the omega draws nearer she finds it hard to stay upright, and she can see Bellamy’s knees buckling.

“Bellamy?” Clarke’s voice is low and impossibly alluring and closer this time, and Lexa’s getting desperate. The bulge pressing against her trousers has turned downright painful, aching to be released and pushed into somewhere warm and wet, and she knows she won't be able to hold back much longer. She’ll need to fight Bellamy, or at least get him to submit, so that she can go and knot the omega that she can hear and smell and nearly feel all around her, begging to be claimed.

With the last of her control, her selfhood that isn't just the alpha, she layers as much authority into her voice as she can and growls, “I will keep her safe, Sky Boy. Now go.”

He isn’t going to do it, Lexa can see – the iron in her voice has him shaking at the knees, but he won’t avert his eyes and his growl gets louder. With sick satisfaction Lexa lets out a low roar and prepares to spring at him, to go for his throat and pin him to the ground until he submits or dies – but then Clarke emerges from the tent. She runs a hand along Bellamy’s arm and Lexa lets out a loud snarl, simultaneously infuriated and heartbroken at the display of preference. She knows it's not fair – omegas have little to no control over their urges while in heat – but she can't help being miserable at the thought that Clarke’s abandoning her for the first alpha she sees.

Bellamy’s eyes go wide and the tension leaves his body, all except for the bulge between his legs, which makes Lexa snarl again and turn away so she doesn't do something rash and start a war they've just managed to end. And then she’s enveloped in Clarke’s scent. All she can feel is Clarke’s hands on her arm, drawing her into the tent, and all she can hear is Clarke’s voice shakily saying, “Bellamy, go. I’ll be fine.”

The soothing, persuasive power of the omega’s voice, magnified by her heat, does what all of Lexa’s alpha fury can’t. He gives a short, sharp nod and turns on his heel, marching stiffly away from the tent. As soon as he’s gone, Lexa turns to Clarke, letting out the breath she’s been holding in a rush. “That was…I'm very impressed with the control Bellamy displayed in this situation. He could very easily have gone in after you but instead he stayed to keep the other alphas away, long enough for me to -”

She almost doesn't notice the spike in Clarke’s scent, the way her eyes have gone dark with lust and impatience, and slight trembling of her limbs. She definitely notices, however, when Clarke leans up, grabs her chin, and pulls her face close. “Lexa,” the omega growls, “will you just shut up and fuck me?” Without bothering to wait for an answer she brings her lips crashing into Lexa’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one, my companions in sin! Let me know what you thought.


	4. these days i can't seem to make this right / well is this fine? will it be all right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the sin! Thank you all for your wonderful comments and responses - it's been really wonderful to hear how much you enjoyed the story. I hope you like this part just as much, if not more - after all, this is what you all came for, right?
> 
> Anyway, the next thing I'm planning in this 'verse is a prequel, sort of a (smutty) exploration of how Lexa and Clarke's relationship got started. I'm planning on making that a true oneshot - none of this 30K of character development and mild plot garbage. After that, I'm planning a follow-up (kind of) that involves a Clexa threesome. As always, let me know your thoughts - on the chapter, on the porn, on the fic in general, and on the possible companion pieces!

Through the haze of Clarke’s heat and her own rut clouding her brain, Lexa dimly registers the omega’s hands tugging at her body and her clothes with more desperation than effect. She can’t seem to decide whether she wants Lexa naked or on the bed more, and she can smell the girl’s frustration levels spiking. For a moment Lexa can’t figure out why – Clarke’s getting what she wants, right? – but a second later the red-eyed haze of lust and rage she’s been holding back bursts forth with a snarl. _This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,_ her inner alpha rages. _She’s an omega – take her, claim her, knot her!_

With another snarl Lexa forces Clarke’s hands from where they’re yanking at her belt and pushes the omega backwards, spinning her around and pinning both arms up behind her back _._ Normally Clarke wouldn’t tolerate this kind of behavior from Lexa but right now the roughness of it is hitting her just right, making her let out a low moan as a fresh wave of dampness rushes forth to soak her ruined underwear. “That’s enough,” Lexa snaps in her ear, breathing hot and harsh against her skin, making her shiver. “Bed, _now_ – before I bend you over and knot you on the war table for everyone to see.”

The thought of being found like that, tied with Lexa and filled by her knot, makes Clarke gasp, but what little rational thought she has left in her head drives her forward under the prodding of Lexa’s knee. She stumbles past the curtain that separates the sleeping area from the main room of the tent, legs shaky and uncertain. With a hard shove Clarke’s on the bed and Lexa’s looming over her, all sinuously corded muscle and barely contained fury.

Lexa feels like she's on the last shreds of her sanity as she methodically begins to strip Clarke, the Skaikru fastenings and closures rendered nearly incomprehensible by the red-eyed haze of lust dimming her thoughts. Eventually the knowledge that this is what Clarke wants – backed up by the spike of arousal she’d smelled when she’d taken control – makes her begin to tear what her fingers can't figure out. When Clarke gets impatient and tries to lean up and unbuckle her belt she pushes the omega down onto the bed, pinning her wrists and snarling until she stops squirming and whines instead, showing her throat. Lexa latches onto it, worrying at the skin just over her pulse as she yanks the rest of Clarke’s clothes off and then her own shirt.

Clarke’s rubbing her body against Lexa’s, moaning and panting, desperate for skin-to-skin contact, but Lexa has her pinned. Her body is betraying her – she’s never whined and writhed under the Commander this way, never begged, “Lexa, please, _please,_ I need you,” never smelled this sweetly submissive. And never tasted quite so sweet either, Lexa discovers as she works her way down Clarke’s body, nipping and licking and sucking on the exposed skin. She’s not being particularly careful where she leaves her marks, but Clarke doesn't seem to mind.

In fact, Clarke’s glorying in it, her inner omega basking in the thought that everyone will be able to see tomorrow just how thoroughly the Commander has claimed her. But then Lexa’s mouth closes over her clit and she chokes out a gasp, pressing at the alpha’s head, whining and begging for her to go faster. Lexa takes her time – this is about control. When Clarke submits, she's rewarded with penetration – one finger, then two, pushing roughly into her, stretching her open – but when she tries to control the pace, grinding her sex up into Lexa’s mouth in a desperate search for more stimulation, fingers are withdrawn, the pace is slowed.

Before long she's got four inside of her and her inner walls are still sucking Lexa in, desperate for more. It only takes a brief burst of increased pressure and Clarke’s coming around her, screaming and bucking up against her mouth. But the moment it's over they both know it's not enough. Clarke needs to be taken, filled, claimed, and there’s only one thing that can meet the need making her center pulse like a second heartbeat: Lexa’s knot.

As Lexa works to yank the rest of her own clothes off she feels the red-eyed haze come over her again, and all of a sudden her belt becomes impossible to figure out. Clarke watches her struggle, wavering between desire for what she can see pressing at the seam of Lexa’s pants and concern that if she tries to help, the alpha will continue to deny her the thing she needs most. Finally, she lets out a low, questioning whine. Lexa appears to consider for a moment before letting out a snarl of exasperation and throwing up her hands. Clarke’s up in a flash, eager fingers working at her belt and the closures on her pants, pushing down her shorts until she finally springs free.

She hesitates as she stares at Lexa’s cock. She’s seen it before, enjoyed the pleasure it’s brought her, but she’s never wanted it quite this much, never felt an aching emptiness like this before and known that it’s the only answer. She reaches out to gently brush the length and the touch brings Lexa back to herself. She surges forward, pressing their bodies and their lips together again, bearing Clarke down to the bed. The kiss is so sweet and yet so hot that she could almost be content to do it forever. But her cock is pressing up against warmth and so, so much slick, and she can't help but whine and give a few weak thrusts of her hips against Clarke’s opening. In answer, the omega whimpers and pushes her hips upwards against Lexa’s, and she can't help it anymore – she needs to be in her.

She pulls back, hissing at the loss of contact, but then groans as she fits herself between Clarke’s legs. When the omega starts rolling her hips up towards Lexa’s, trying to take her cock in one smooth thrust, she growls until Clarke shows her throat again. Lexa wraps a hand around her shaft and gives it a few strokes against Clarke’s slick sex just to torment a whine out of her, watching the omega’s eyes fixed on it hungrily. But she only manages a few seconds of torment before she fits the head to her entrance and begins to push slowly into wet, clinging heat.

“God, Lexa,” Clarke groans as she feels the alpha’s cock begin to sink into her, pulsing and throbbing with barely contained need. She’s enjoyed Lexa’s fulfilling girth, the way it seems to fit perfectly inside of her and rub against all of the most pleasant places, but there are times the Grounder’s hands and mouth are just as adept at satisfying her. This time, though, is going to be different. Nothing but Lexa sheathed all the way inside of her, filling her completely, is going to do. But Lexa’s taking her what feels like millimeters at a time, and she thinks that if the alpha keeps this rate up she’s going to fucking explode. She also knows, however, that if she tries to overtly control the pace, Lexa will only slow it further – but she has one more trick up her sleeve.

She digs her nails into Lexa’s back, raking down the hard muscles and enjoying the way they flex and bunch under her touch. The growl that the Commander lets out as her hands drift lower makes a fresh burst of wetness slick her opening, and Lexa can’t help but twitch her hips forward minutely. It’s not even a full thrust but it makes Clarke gasp, and then moan disappointedly when she realizes that the alpha’s just barely managed to hold herself back. She goes in for the kill, digging her nails into Lexa’s ass and squeezing.

With a full-throated snarl Lexa surges forward, pushing the head of her cock past the tight ring of Clarke’s entrance and sinking several inches into fluttering, silky heat. The omega cries out at the brief burst of pain, but within moments it morphs into pleasure. She gives Lexa’s ass one more hard squeeze and the last few inches glide almost effortlessly forward, until she’s sheathed fully in the clinging, pulsing warmth. She lets out a whine and drops her head to Clarke’s neck, panting with the effort of catching her breath and keeping herself from thrusting frantically into the omega. The pressure she feels building in her cock is immense but she knows that this needs to be about satisfying Clarke’s heat, and she’s not going to be able to do that if she ruts into her mindlessly and spills herself without paying any mind to the omega’s pleasure.

So she forces herself to pick up an achingly slow pace, angling her thrusts until she’s hitting the spot on Clarke’s front wall that she knows will drive her omega wild. When she feels Clarke’s grip tighten on her shoulders and neck and hears the frantic whimpers of “Faster, Lexa” and “God, _please –“_ she allows herself a smirk. It’s nearly impossible torture to continue this way for her, and she’s not the one in heat; Clarke must be nearly going out of her mind, if the way she’s alternating between fluttering and clamping down around Lexa’s member is any indication.

After she’s satisfied that she’s tormented her omega enough to be ready for more, she shifts backwards – Clarke moaning at the loss of Lexa’s weight over her – and reaches for her hips, jerking them upwards for a deeper angle. It only takes a few long, hard strokes for her to get the message, and she lifts them even higher for Lexa to grasp hold of. The alpha picks up a hard, quick pace that has Clarke crying out and raking scratches down Lexa’s back in short order.

Clarke has known Lexa inside of her before, but this is something different entirely. Her pussy feels like it's swollen and aching and gripping onto Lexa’s member so hard that each thrust sends pleasure lancing through her entire body. She can't help but want and need and beg for more; she thinks that if she were not in heat she might be embarrassed by how unashamedly she's clutching and clinging to Lexa, pressing herself closer and arching into her, desperate to be touching as much of the alpha’s skin as possible. She’s babbling out her desires in a barely coherent rush that makes the alpha growl into her ear as she struggles to hold onto the last scraps of her control: “Please, Lexa – God, so full – need you deeper – oh god, please, _harder!”_

And then she's clamping down around Lexa’s cock, her walls gripping at her like she can't stand to have even an inch not buried completely inside of her for even a second. Lexa’s keeping doggedly to the same rhythm but there’s an extra stutter in her hips that betrays her to Clarke - she's not unaffected by how close the omega is. Clarke desperately wants to make Lexa lose control, to feel the alpha over top of her turn into a raging animal, plowing into her with brutal force and speed – but she can't hold herself back any longer. With a sharp cry she digs her nails harder into Lexa’s back and comes, wrapping her legs around the alpha’s waist and snapping down around the Commander’s girth. 

As she feels the slick velvet grip of Clarke’s walls fluttering around her and the rush of wetness that accompanies her release, Lexa lets out a groan, her hips stuttering with the effort of maintaining control over herself. She badly wants to focus on Clarke’s pleasure, wants to make certain that she doesn’t release before the omega is satisfied fully, but the way Clarke’s bucking beneath her and crying out makes it incredibly difficult. She grits her teeth and manages to slow her hips until she’s just barely jerking forward, waiting for the omega to come down from her high. Setting her teeth into the skin just beneath Clarke’s jaw she grips there gently, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal and release.

As her contractions slow she leans up to kiss Clarke almost tenderly – she’s not sure she can manage much softness at this point, she feels so much like a live wire – but a hard bite to her bottom lip makes her reel back with a startled growl. “What are you doing?” she snaps, and tastes blood as she speaks.

“You _stopped,”_ the omega says in an anguished moan. “Lexa, you fucking _stopped_ and I can’t – I need you to –”

Lexa’s head is swimming with competing urges – to start pounding into Clarke and not stop until she’s full of her cock, her knot, and her come; to pull out of her and torment her until she’s incapable of such disobedience; to start thrusting deep and slow and try to draw another orgasm out of her. But her mind goes completely blank when Clarke reaches up and latches her teeth onto Lexa’s neck, _hard_ , while at the same time thrusting her hips upward and clenching around her cock.

“Dammit, Lexa,” Clarke growls, but isn’t able to continue any further. Her frustration and arousal have caused words to desert her, and all she can do is _show_ Lexa how much she wants to see and feel the alpha inside of her, the animal with an instinct to rut and knot and claim. Gaze burning into Lexa’s hazy eyes, she arches up, rubbing herself deliberately against Lexa’s firm stomach and small, pert breasts as she slowly starts to fuck herself on Lexa’s rock-hard, trembling cock. She feels the alpha’s hips give a few involuntary thrusts and she lets out an approving moan, but when the Grounder doesn’t continue she snarls again and nips at her shoulder, _hard._

“Clarke, stop this,” Lexa says, rough and uncertain – if the omega keeps this up, she knows she’s not going to be able to maintain her control. But the light of challenge in her eyes tells Lexa that Clarke knows exactly what she’s doing, and is deliberately trying to provoke that kind of reaction from her.

“Make me,” Clarke hisses in Lexa’s ear before latching onto it with her teeth. She can feel the Commander’s body vibrating with need, with the effort of controlling her instincts. She’s so, so close to being exactly how Clarke wants her; she just needs one last push.

Lexa can’t keep from starting to thrust again, a slow, unsteady rhythm that does little more than drive Clarke crazy with want. She digs her nails in harder, moves her hips in an attempt to up the pace, and moans “Harder” and “Faster” and “God, Lexa, _fuck me_ –”

Something snaps in the Grounder alpha and she grabs Clarke’s hips, digging her nails in hard enough to bruise. “ _Enough,”_ she nearly roars, and has just enough time to register the delight and arousal in Clarke’s eyes before she pulls out of the omega – barely biting back her groan at the loss of slick heat – and flips her over like she weighs nothing. Without missing a beat, Clarke arches her back and lifts her hips, presenting herself so she’s spread open and dripping, ready to be mounted.

Lexa takes a moment to enjoy the sight, but when Clarke casts a sultry glance over her shoulder and waves her ass in the air tantalizingly, she lets out a growl and surges forward, taking a bruising hold on her hips. After rubbing her cock a couple of times through the slickness dripping down Clarke’s thighs – drinking in the Sky girl’s agonized moan – she abruptly thrusts inside, sheathing herself all the way in tight, shivering heat.

They both groan at the sensation and her hips give an involuntary jolt forward, eliciting a pleased moan, but at this point Lexa’s beyond caring. She’s in rut, her inner alpha taking hold, and she’s not going to stop until she’s taken her pleasure, until Clarke is filled with her knot and her come.

Lexa growls, taking a firmer hold on the omega's hips, hard enough that she’s sure there’ll be marks in the morning. Normally she’s punctilious enough about not leaving signs of her presence on Clarke’s body, much as she might like to, but she doesn’t feel the need to provoke Clarke’s mother any more than her lingering scent on her daughter does. And yet, gripped as she is by Clarke’s heat and the ravening beast inside of her, she can’t help but thrill at the thought of Abby and Bellamy and every single other alpha in the Skaikru camp seeing the signs of her passage and smelling her so strongly on Clarke that there can be no doubt that the omega is _hers._

Her hips give a possessive thrust forward at the thought, and Clarke moans again, arching back into the movement, encouraging more. It’s not long before Clarke’s keening and clamping down deliciously on Lexa’s cock, her walls dragging and pulling at Lexa’s member as though trying to urge her deeper.

Clarke can feel release barreling towards her yet again and she lets it, screaming almost loudly enough to drown out the sound of Lexa’s thighs slapping into her ass, a flood of wetness streaming out around where Lexa’s cock has her impaled. The almost frantic pace Lexa’s setting, the feeling of her hard body against Clarke’s ass, the throbbing length pounding into her relentlessly – this is the alpha, the Commander. She’s lost all control in the grip of Clarke’s heat, and is giving her exactly what she wants.

Ordinarily Lexa would slow after Clarke comes, letting her recover and readjust to her, keeping up a gentle, steady pace until Clarke comes down from her high before resuming fucking her in earnest. Now, however, Lexa doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow – in fact, she speeds up, leaning over her and pushing her hips down onto the bed and fucking her until the delicious drag of friction against Clarke’s still quivering inner walls makes her see stars. She’s so wound up that the sensation nearly borders on pain, but as Lexa’s hips pound even harder against her, as her low grunts increase in frequency and volume, she feels another, stronger orgasm rushing at her like a tidal wave. She can’t help but let out a full-throated scream as it washes over her, fingers clenching in the sheets and walls clenching around Lexa’s cock as it continues to thrust into her deepest places, pulsing with pleasure and need.

All of a sudden Lexa pulls out of her and leans back on her haunches, yanking Clarke to her knees as well and taking hold of her hips. The Commander impales her again in one swift movement, so quickly that Clarke doesn't even have time to whine at the absence, only to yelp and then shudder at the suddenness and force. Her head lolls back against Lexa’s shoulder, and she moans unabashedly at the alpha’s display of strength, the way Lexa handles her body like it weighs nothing.

The omega’s so hot and tight and slick that Lexa knows she’s not going to last much longer. She can feel her knot beginning to inflate, pressing at Clarke’s entrance, and the barest hint of sensation against it makes her shudder. She hears Clarke moan and knows the omega’s feeling it too. “You better come soon, Sky girl,” she growls into her ear, punctuating her words with a particularly hard thrust that makes Clarke cry out sharply. “Or you'll have my knot in you before you can – _jok, Klark, beja –”_

And now she’s the one begging and pleading because Clarke’s clamping down on her shaft relentlessly, at the same time as she reaches back around Lexa’s neck to draw her closer and groan, “Lexa, knot me, _please!”_ And that’s all she can want in this moment, to be buried in her omega as deeply as possible, to be tied.

She puts more force behind each of her thrusts, each one punching a cry out of Clarke’s throat. She can feel a little bit more of her knot slip inside Clarke’s tight channel with each thrust. But a sudden worry reaches through the rut haze in her brain and the immense pleasure she feels every time her knot plunges further into Clarke - she could be hurting the omega. She knows that some omegas find the pressure pleasurable but others find it painful, and stimulation can help lessen the effect. So she lets go of her hold on Clarke’s hips to clasp a breast with one hand, squeezing and rolling and pinching the nipple in a way that makes Clarke gasp, while reaching her other hand down to rub at Clarke’s clit, making her keen and shake even harder.

Clarke feels as though her body is on fire with sensation. The deep pulse of Lexa’s cock inside her, the pressure and stretch of the knot at her entrance, and now the rough relentless friction of Lexa’s fingers at her clit – she finds herself crying out at each thrust, her pleasure climbing to greater and greater heights. The thickest part of Lexa’s knot is pushing into her, stretching her beyond what she thought possible; she hears Lexa groan in her ear. With a particularly hard thrust it’s embedded deep inside her, before she really has time to distinguish pain from the pleasure of being filled. She’s never felt so completely full and it throws her over the edge – she’s coming the hardest she ever has in her life, clamping down on Lexa’s knot unrelentingly, screaming her release.

Clarke falls forward, no longer able to hold herself up, and brings Lexa down on top of her. The heat and smooth wetness of Clarke’s walls clamping tightly around her knot are too much for Lexa to bear, and it only takes a few more quick, deep thrusts before she’s coming too, growling into Clarke’s ear and making her shudder and clamp harder. And then she’s spilling herself into Clarke, releasing deep into her body, filling the Sky Girl with her seed.

The steady pulse of Lexa’s continued release, the alpha’s warm weight draped over her, and the hot breaths in her ear serve to lull Clarke into a kind of stupor. They're both content to rest entwined for a moment, the aftershocks of pleasure thrumming through their bodies as Lexa’s come continues pumping into Clarke. She's conscious of an inexpressibly satisfying feeling of heaviness and fullness to her body and her limbs, as though she's just gorged on a large and excellent meal. It feels incredible to still have Lexa tightly sheathed within her, knot sealing her entrance so that not even a drop of their shared release can escape.

Lexa shifts just the barest amount, but it’s enough to make Clarke gasp: the sensation of the alpha’s knot moving within her makes her instantly aware of how tightly knotted she is with Lexa, and it brings her heat and her desire rushing back instantly. Lexa’s still pouring herself into her but she’s also still hard, and Clarke experimentally grinds back against that hardness to get more of the sensation, groaning at the pleasure that infuses her entire body. _“Clarke,”_ Lexa gasps out, tensing above her, and the omega grins and pushes her hips back harder, moaning delightedly at the way it feels.

Lexa growls warningly, but that only serves to encourage Clarke, so she hooks her arms under the omega’s for more leverage and begins pumping into her. The short, swift thrusts make the burn in Clarke’s sex intensify a hundredfold. It's taking every ounce of control Lexa possesses not to simply rut into Clarke mindlessly – she knows that as tightly knotted as they are it could cause both of them pain – but the noises Clarke’s making and the way she’s writhing beneath her are seriously damaging her calm. With another growl that makes the omega shiver pleasurably she clasps her arms tighter around Clarke and grinds her hips more firmly against her Sky girl’s rear, effectively pinning her against the bed. “You need to stop,” she says roughly, between harsh pants. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“As long as _you_ don't stop,” Clarke moans. “ _God,_ Lexa, you feel so good, but – _harder!”_ With a snarl, the Commander obliges, picking up the pace, pulling back as much as she can and slamming herself into the omega’s body. Even the feeling of her knot moving centimeters back and forth inside Clarke’s tight, wet channel brings intense waves of pleasure to them both.

And then something clicks and the desperation, the separate animalistic desires of their bodies, are subsumed to the connection they feel. They're entirely in sync, each movement carefully calculated to bring as much pleasure as possible to both alpha and omega. Their voices rise in shared passion, twining around one another, and soon Clarke’s crying out a second release as Lexa roars out her own.

As she feels her orgasm rush through her cock and flood into Clarke, shaking her body in powerful waves, she's also aware of another, even more powerful urge threatening to overtake her. She can see Clarke’s pulse fluttering wildly in her neck just as her inner walls flutter rapidly around Lexa’s length, and the desire to lean just a bit further forward and sink her teeth into the soft flesh there, to claim Clarke and mark her indelibly as _hers,_ makes her jaws ache abominably, and her chest hurt worse. But through it all, the pain and the pleasure entwining just as fully as they are until they're indistinguishable from one another, she manages to focus on one lucid thought, though it seems like it came from a lifetime ago:

_I'm not ready. Not yet._

Clarke has forgotten that she ever asked Lexa not to claim her. All she can focus on is Lexa’s body above her, Lexa’s hands on her, Lexa’s knot inside her and her come filling her. She can't understand why she hasn't felt Lexa’s teeth sinking into her yet, hasn't been irrevocably claimed by her alpha, her mate. She whines pitifully, her own jaws snapping emptily as she seeks to make an answering mark. But Lexa’s body above her is heavy and her hands are firm, and through all of the agony and ecstasy filling her one hazy, miserable thought comes through:

_She doesn't want me._

A moment later Lexa’s own despair at preventing herself from making her claim rips through the air in a miserable howl, and Clarke feels Lexa’s body slump over hers. She gasps and the conviction that Lexa hasn’t claimed her by her own choice vanishes like smoke. She reaches out to gently touch Lexa’s arm as she feels the Commander heaving deep, shuddering breaths against the back of her neck.

Clarke’s beginning to come back to herself, murmuring, “We should get cleaned up, once we’re not…tied.” The term feels strange in her mouth - she's only ever used it in an abstract context before – and she feels Lexa heave a deep sigh against her skin.

“That won't be for an hour or more.”

She feels utterly spent, her body like lead, like all of the energy was drained out of her at once by the effort of not claiming Clarke. She knows that she likely won't be able to stay awake long enough for her knot to ease, to slide out of Clarke and release the flood of come that it’s sealing in now. The thought brings with it more pangs of regret. She knows that it would be utterly impractical for them to breed at this point - they're both young, with plenty of fertile years ahead of them, and they’re at war, which doesn't exactly leave much time for raising children. And she can't exactly imagine Clarke being content watching from the sidelines with a swollen belly, either – the thought makes her snort quietly, and then roll them both over so they're resting on their sides.

Clarke is mostly grateful – Lexa’s body is almost entirely muscle, and she isn't light – but she can't help but miss the warm weight draped bonelessly over her. It had felt almost like a claim in its own right, but Lexa doesn't give her much time to feel abandoned – a heavy arm drapes across her hips and pulls her back against a hard body. Clarke relaxes backwards, sighing contentedly as her body molds itself to Lexa’s, contours matching together almost seamlessly.

The movement also makes her feel Lexa’s knot and come shift within her, reminding her of just how full she is. The thought is more comforting than erotic now, making her feel as though the throbbing ache inside of her is finally soothed. She feels Lexa’s fingers trail gently, almost uncertainly, over the mild swell in her abdomen, and she reaches over to clasp them with her own and squeeze. She's fairly certain she knows what Lexa’s thinking about because her thoughts are in the same place as well. For the first time she finds herself thinking of it not in terms of _We’re too young, I'm not ready_ but, instead, that there's a war on, a war that has a high chance of claiming both of their lives. The pain of losing both a mate and a child at once would be enough to destroy both of them.

But the desolate sound of Lexa’s howl still echoes in her ears, and she finds herself compelled to tangle her fingers in the Commander’s and murmur, “Someday…”

She feels Lexa’s chest heave with a drawing of breath and then the alpha murmurs drowsily, “When the war’s done, and our people are safe, and we’ve built a new world out of the ruins of the old… Maybe then, Clarke.”

Clarke manages a humorless chuckle. “And how long is that gonna be?”

The sleepiness in the Commander’s voice is apparently contagious because she feels her own eyelids drooping. She shifts backwards and settles herself more firmly against Lexa, the alpha’s warmth seeping through her bones and comforting her. The last thing she hears before she slides into sleep is, “It takes as long as it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng: 
> 
> jok, Klark, beja - fuck, Clarke, please


End file.
